


I Didn't Do All I've Done For You

by Meddalarksen, victoriousscarf



Category: Cats - Andrew Lloyd Webber, White Collar
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-05-30
Updated: 2013-10-15
Packaged: 2017-11-06 07:21:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 21
Words: 108,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/416221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meddalarksen/pseuds/Meddalarksen, https://archiveofourown.org/users/victoriousscarf/pseuds/victoriousscarf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Mistoffelees makes a work release deal with the FBI to solve white collar crimes for them instead of staying in prison, he initially just wants to find his lover again. Life doesn't quite work out that way however. Fusion/Adaption of Cats the Musical and White Collar.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. He Saw Us Coming

The short man moved quickly, glancing over his shoulders several times at the sound of doors closing and opening and footsteps. He was snipping off the beard growing on his face over a toilet bowl, orange jumpsuit marking his status as a prisoner. Once his beard was as down he shaved it off with a disposable razor that had once seen better days.

Once his face was clear, he moved to the zip lock bags stashed in the toilet, pulling out shoes and a uniform. He changed quickly before moving quickly out the door of the employees only bathroom. A buzz sounded, signaling the change of guards shift. With his longish black hair slicked back and uniform, the man moved smoothly through the halls, the guards paying him no attention other than nodding at him. A couple prisoners did a double take but one just smiled before turning back to what he was doing.

As the man moved, he swiped a card from one of the guards, sliding it through the correct reader to open the gate. One of the guards caught the door and the man tensed, but the guard only smiled him through.

Returning the smile he breezed through the parking lot, making his way over to a maintenance van, hotwiring it and pulling away from the prison, dropping the stolen card in the parking lot.

Looking through the dash, he pulled out three dollar bills and smiled. A short while later, he used the three dollars to buy a yellow wind breaker, which when he removed the uniform jacket made him look like any other airport shuttle employee. With that alias, he picked up a hundred dollar bill and a convertible black car.

w-w-w-w

Agent Coricopat Zimmerman of the FBI's white collar crimes unit stood inside a bank, on edge as a technician worked to open a particular box in the safe. He kept his eyes on a screen of the tumblers as the tech reported back, "Drop three. Drop two. Drop four."

The man reached for the handle just as Coricopat processed the numbers, "No, wait!" The man didn't hear him and the safe deposit box exploded, self destructing anything inside of it.

Coughing, agent Macavity Hollister looked up. "What the hell just happened?" he snapped, looking over his computer screen and trying to wipe the dust off it.

The tech came out of the safe looking a bit the worse for the wear. Coricopat waved a hand to clear some of the dust away from his face, trying to speak without coughing, "What happened is we just wasted ten thousand man hours to get this close to the Dutchman and the evidence just blew up!"

Bombalurina coughed, shaking her head as Macavity frowned. "How'd you know it was gonna do that?"

"Three two four." He answered, "Check your phones, what's it spell?"

"FBI," Mac sighed. "Damnit. He saw us coming."

"You think?" He shook his head and pulled a red fiber off of his jacket, "Anyone know what this is? Anyone? Nobody. Great...And how many of you went to Harvard?" He knew he shouldn't' be lashing out at the agents, but he felt his temper spike with a strong dose of irritation as most of those present raised their hands, "Don't raise your hands. Just don't. It was a rhetorical question."

Bombalurina frowned down at her phone, stepping outside of the room as Macavity threw his headphone down. Coricopat saw her go and arched a brow. Handing the fiber off to one of the agents to deal with he followed Bombalurina out, "Bomba? What's going on?"

She looked over at him, tossing her red hair over her shoulder. "Mistoffelees Caffrey just escaped," she said.

He blinked at her, " _What_?"

She shrugged helplessly. "Time to get back to the office."

"I'll tell Mac to take care of getting this packed up, and then I'll head to the detention facility."

She nodded. "I'll tell Hollister. You go."

Her boss offered her a flickering smile and headed to his car, only barely following traffic laws to the prison. He got out and strode inside, greeting the U.S. Marshall already there.

"I appreciate your help," the Marshall said, approaching him. "You were the case agent on Caffrey before, right? The only guy to ever catch him."

"That's me," Coricopat agreed. "You must be Thompson."

The man nodded, not holding out a hand to shake. "Yeah. Now we're dealing with an unusual situation. Why would he run with only three months left on a four year sentence?"

"That is the question. Until I see a couple things I can't say without guessing in the dark. I assume we have access to his cell?"

"Of course," the marshal said, leading the way.

"So, Caffrey came out of the E-block staff bathroom dressed as a guard." Coricopat frowned, "Where did he get the uniform?" Violence would have been noticed, and it wasn't the other's style anyhow.

"Uniform supply company off the internet," the head of the prison replied and Thompson sighed.

"Alright, better question," the FBI agent glanced at the prison warden, "Where'd he get a credit card?"

The warden looked shamefaced a moment. "My wife's American Express."

"We're tracking the number," Thompson added.

That earned a long blink and it took all of Coricopat's willpower not to rip the warden a new one, "He won't use it again." They had reached the cell and he stepped inside. There were paintings on the walls and books stacked up on the bed. One wall was covered in neat rows of tally marks. "How did he get the key card he needed for the gate?"

"Picked one off a guard," he said with a shrug.

Coricopat stared at him for a minute before moving over and sitting down on the bed, going through the books scattered there, a manual on truck maintenance, well that explained the getaway vehicle...

"He walked out the front door and hotwired a maintenance truck," the warden explained.

"We found it abandoned near the airport," Thompson added. "We beefed up security, in case he tries to escape that way."

"You won't catch him using roadblocks and wanted posters," Coricopat responded, picking up a collection of Oscar Wilde's works, opening it to the middle where a flyer marked the last page read. The flyer featured two people in bright yellow jackets and bore the words "Executive Services Airport Parking". "He's not taking a plane anywhere." He set the book aside and turned to a cracked mirror and the razor that had been used that morning.

"He shaved his beard just before he escaped," the warden added.

The FBI agent looked up with a frown, speaking as he rose, "Mistoffelees doesn't have a beard."

The marshal and warden looked at each other. "He didn't," the warden said. "We photograph each inmate as they walk out of their cell every morning. You wanna check them out?"

"Yeah, that'd be useful. Might find us a trigger day."

The warden nodded, leaning the way. They reached the security room and backed up the daily photographs of Mistoffelees until he emerged clean-shaven from his cell. "There." Coricopat pointed, "That's the day he stopped shaving. I want to know  _everything_  that happened that day. I assume you have the visitor logs?"

Nodding, the warden pulled out the visitor log, flipping to the day in question. "He had on visitor."

Coricopat leaned over to look, "Pouncival Moreau. Damn it."

"Who's she?" the marshal asked. "Sounds like you know her quite well."

" _He_ ," Coricopat answered, "is Mistoffelees Caffrey's significant other. Find me the security footage of that visit."

Thompson blinked at him as the warden ordered the footage to be brought. "There's not gonna be any audio on this," he warned.

"That's fine, I just want a read on the body language. My guess is our trigger's in that visit somewhere."

The warden nodded as the video started playing, He flipped through the log book. "That Moreau was like clockwork. Every week."

"Well, he wasn't thrilled about this visit," Coricopat murmured, watching the exchange on the monitors, trying to get a focus on Pouncival's lips, see if he could make out what he was saying.

"Can we get a lip reader in here?" Thompson asked.

"No need. I'll save you the trouble," the agent sighed.'Adios, Misto. It's been real. He shook his head, gaze still focused on the screen, "He come back the next week?"

"Never again," the warden said, flipping through the book.

"That's it then. There's why Caffrey escaped with so little time left." He rose, "Let's find Pouncival."

w-w-w-w

Nightfall found police cars surrounding the black convertible that had been stolen that morning. Mistoffelees was sitting on a third floor apartment, turning a Bordeaux wine bottle in his hands. Other than him and the bottle the flat was empty.

Coricopat had insisted on going up alone. All but ordering everyone else present to stand down, he made his way up to the apartment, entering it. His gaze swept over the space, far emptier than he remembered it, "I see Pounce moved out." His voice turned softer when he saw the bottle, "He leave you a message in that?"

"The bottle is the message," the smaller man replied, not looking up. "Been a while."

"A few years, give or take," Coricopat agreed, coming around to the front of the pillar the other was leaning against. "I know your opinion of guns, but I have to ask, are you carrying?"

"No," Mistoffelees said, eyes flashing as he glanced up before looking back down. "You said it already, you know my opinion of guns."

"You know they asked me why you would pull such a boneheaded escape with just four months left to go." He looked around, shaking his head, "He moved fast, pulling his disappearing act. Trail ends here from the looks of things."

"Yeah, missed him by two days," Mistoffelees said, swallowing. "Only two days."

"Still, you managed to get out of a supermax in a month and a half. It was a close thing, and a damn impressive one."

"Didn't do me any good, did it?"

"You tried. It's a sight more than some would even think to do." His radio crackled and he picked it up, speaking into it, "Situation secure. Subject identified and unarmed."

Letting his head thud against the pillar, Mistoffelees sighed. "So, we're entirely surrounded then?"

Coricopat nodded slightly, "Marshalls called me in which means my agents as well." He glanced toward the bottle, "What was the message?"

"Good bye."

The agent sighed, shaking his head, "They're going to give you another four years for this, you know."

"I know," he said softly, carefully setting the bottle down and curling his knees up to chest.

Coricopat crouched down in front of the other man, "Is it worth it?"

Mistoffelees' eyes shut off and he rose. "That's the same suit you were wearing four years ago."

"Classics. You can't beat them, they never go out of style."

The short man rolled his eyes, looking it over and pausing. He reached out and plucked a small red fiber off his jacket. "Do you know what this is?"

"No," came the frank response. "And neither do any of the Harvard grads on my team. It's from the case I was supposed to be working before they yanked me to find you."

"Well, that's because Harvard grads aren't worth anything," Mistoffelees snorted and he paused as he heard footsteps on the stairs. He held the fiber in front of Coricopat's eyes. "I tell you what this is, what's it worth?"

"What do you mean?"

"If I tell you what this is, right now? Will you meet me in a week? In prison of course 'cause I don't think I'll be breaking out again like this."

"Meet you? For a fiber?" He considered for a long moment, finally nodding. The men could be heard at the hall outside the apartment.

"It's a security fiber for the new Canadian hundred dollar bill," Mistoffelees said quickly. "Technically it's still classified," he dropped the fiber back on his shoulder. "Don't forget."

Coricopat plucked the fiber off his shoulder again, "One week."

Mistoffelees offered him a strained smile as the guard burst in. He held his hands up, turning. Coricopat stepped back, letting the marshals take over. He made his way down the stairs behind the others, strolling over the meet Macavity and Bombalurina where they were waiting.

"That was easier than last time," Bomba remarked.

"He wasn't broken last time," came the murmured response. "Come on, I have a report to make about that fiber we found."

"But we know nothing about it," Bomba started, "And what do you mean broken?"

"We know what it is," her boss replied, getting into the car. "And I mean The man who he was in love with left him while he was in prison and he missed him by two days. He is now going back to prison for four more years for no actual reason."

"Alright, then how do we know what it is?" Macavity asked when Bomba didn't say anything.

"If it pans out as what I think it is I owe Mistoffelees a prison visit." His two agents looked at each other before trailing after him.

w-w-w-w

Coricopat entered the bureau almost a week later, meeting Bombalurina in the hall, "What's got the belt and suspender boys all riled up?"

"You," she said, handing him a file.

"Me?" He took the file, "What did I do now?"

"Your felon was right," she replied. "The stuff from the bank vault was the security fiber from the new Canadian hundred."

"Well, I'll be damned..."

"It's still classified, you know," she added. "You might have just caused an international incident."

"Well, this will be thrilling. I'd better set up to meet with Caffrey then."

"He deserves it," she said, giving him a long look.

"Deserves the meeting? Yes, that was the agreed price."

She considered him and nodded. "I'll call ahead to the prison then."

"Thanks. I'll be back soon."

w-w-w-w

Coricopat entered the room where he was going to meet Mistoffelees, looking up as the smaller man was brought in, "How'd you know?"

"It's what I do," Mistoffelees shrugged. "How'd the Canadian's like that?"

"They were very upset. Well, as upset as they get about anything." He sat down across from the other, "So I agreed to a meeting. Here I am."

"This guy you're chasing, the Dutchman," Mistoffelees said. "You call him that because he disappears like the ship right?"

"Something like that. How do you know anything about him?" Coricopat eyed Mistoffelees warily.

"You know my life," Mistoffelees shrugged. "I pay attention to yours."

"Fair enough. Why bring up the Dutchman?"

Mistoffelees wet his lips. "You got the cards I presume. I want to help you catch him."

"The cards were a nice touch." Coricopat shook his head, "And how are you supposed to do that? Become pen pals?"

Swallowing, as if preparing himself, Mistoffelees held out a file. "You can get me out of here. There's precedence. I can be released into your custody..."

The agent looked over the file, "Nice. This is very nice. But you're right, I do know you, and I know the second you're out, you'll take off after Pouncival."

"I'm not gonna run," Mistoffelees protested. "Besides, the conditions of this deal wouldn't allow me."

"And which condition is that?"

"GPS tracking anklet," Mistoffelees said, looking like each word hurt him.

Coricopat looked over the specs and shook his head, "The can be removed."

"Not these new ones," Mistoffelees protested.

"There's always a first time."

"There always is," Mistoffelees said, and he was looking more and more panicked the longer the conversation went. "Think about it. I know things none of your grads do, and I understand how the world works better than they could hope to. Where else would you find this information?"

Coricopat rose, still shaking his head, "I'm sorry. I just can't justify it."

For a moment the shorter man opened and closed his mouth, any suave charm he usually had deserting him. "I..."

The FBI agent looked like he genuinely regretted it, "It's just not something I can sell to my superiors." With those words he slipped out of the room, the metal door clanging behind him.

The prisoner rubbed his face with his hands, leaning back and looking at the file again.

w-w-w-w

That night found Mistoffelees sitting against the wall at the head of his bed. The room was stripped just about bare, only one book remaining and a pen. The guard walked by. "Lights out," he said.

"Midnight then?" the short man asked.

"Yeah, it's midnight," the guard said.

"Another minute?" Mistoffelees asked and the guard said the affirmative.

Mistoffelees nodded, standing. He moved over to the wall, picking up the pen and looking at his wall of tallies. Hand steady, he moved forward, adding another tally to the perfectly straight lines and stopping. It should have been the mark he never made-he should have been out that afternoon.

Suddenly his hand moved roughly across the marks, scribbling all over the wall and breaking the light bulb hanging near the wall. Hanging his head, he breathed for a moment, trying to control himself. Straightening, he ran a hand through his hair before turning to his bed, making a small, straight tally above the bed. For a long moment he just stared at it before letting his head thud against the wall.

w-w-w-w

Coricopat hesitated, still trying to decide whether he had time to step off the porch and retreat between the time he rang the bell and the time Macavity or Griddlebone answered the door. The answer was probably no, but he drew a deep breath and rang the doorbell regardless.

Almost instantly the door opened. "Cor," Mac said in some surprise. "What're you doing around here?"

"I...Grids called and invited me to dinner."

"Oh, right," Mac said, stepping back. "Come on in, come on in." He turned around. "Honey, can I have warning when my boss comes over for dinner?"

Grids came around the corner from the living room, "I've had it marked on the calendar, Mac."

"That means nothing and you know it," he said, scrunching up his face slightly. "Not that I ain't glad to see you," he added. "Take a seat, how're you doing then?"

Coricopat settled into a chair, shrugging slightly, "I had a meeting with Mistoffelees today."

Griddlebone started setting the table, listening in but not contributing yet.

"Is that a positive thing or a oh-god-where-are-the-drinks thing?"

"Maybe a bit of both," came the tired reply. "He wants to be remanded into my custody."

Mac blinked and went to fetch the wine bottle. "He wants... to work with the FBI? To get out of prison? That he should have been out of today?"

"That's about the sum of it. He's got good points, but I can't justify it."

"How is he doing?" Grids asked, setting a casserole on the trivet at the center of the table.

Coricopat shook his head, "Not well. At all."

Macavity moved around the table, wrapping an arm around his wife's waist, resting his chin on her shoulder. "What do you mean?"

"You were working with me on the team that caught him, weren't you, Mac?"

"Yeah, course I was," Macavity said, taking a drink of wine with his free hand.

Grids tilted her head back to rest it against Mac's shoulder slightly as Coricopat considered his own glass of wine. "Do you remember the life in him? That...vivacity? It's...I think I saw it shrivel up and die this afternoon."

"It's been four years, there's no promise it died today," Mac replied, pulling Griddlebone just a little closer. "Why, are you feeling guilty for catching him again? Not like he was actually trying to run or anything."

"No, of course not. He all but turned himself in. It's just...I don't know. He was bordering on desperate. He'd done all the research. Hell,  _he offered_  the GPS anklet as a way to keep track of him. I just...I don't know if it's an angle he's playing or if he genuinely wants out of there so desperately he'll work with us."

Mac considered, glancing down at his wife. "So why'd he break out then only to go back like that?" he asked. "If you think he has an angle about getting back into prison only to get out of it again."

Grids glanced up at her husband, "Why did he break out in the first place?"

"His boyfriend was leaving. Rather abruptly, from what I can tell," Coricopat answered.

"And it earned him...?"

"Four more years."

"And you think he's playing an angle," Mac snorted. "You can't believe he'd risk everything for love, do you? Cor, don't you remember when we caught him the first time?"

"Of course I remember that, Mac. And that's the thing. I'm worried that's the angle he's playing," Coricopat shook his head.

Grids glanced between them, "The angle of going back to prison for the person he loves? Am I missing something? It doesn't sound much like an angle."

"Cor," Mac shook his head. "How can he be playing an angle on this? His lover left him and he just got an extra four years. You said yourself he looked broken and desperate didn't you?"

"The same way he looked in the apartment when he realized that. What's to keep him from saying 'to hell with it', shorting or cutting the anklet and taking off to find Pouncival?"

Glancing down at Griddlebone, Macavity shrugged. "Maybe nothing. Maybe everything. Didn't he send you cards every year?"

Coricopat pinched the bridge of his nose, "Yeah, every year on my birthday."

Grids shook her head, "Well, isn't it worth the risk? You've caught him before, you could do it again, especially with the warning you'd have with the anklet."

"You said it yourself, he's a lively sort of guy," Mac added, finishing off his glass of wine. "You really want to be in a position to help someone and not do it? Come on, let's eat."

"Not sure I'm especially-"

Griddlebone frowned, "Don't finish that sentence. You are going to eat  _something_."

"You can for dinner," Mac backed her up and laughed. "Besides, you're skin and bones again."

Coricopat rolled his eyes, "Fine, I'll eat something. Thank you both for having me over."

Macavity laughed, pulling a chair out. "Anytime, within reasonable limits and with warning,"

Grids laughed, shortening the warning time to"Just call ahead."


	2. All of the Two Things Currently Mine

Coricopat leaned against his car a couple days later, his eyes focused on the prison gates as they opened to let Mistoffelees exit, "Let me see it."

The short man paused and pulled up his pant leg, revealing the tracker around his anklet. "There it is. Happy?"

The agent offered a half shrug and nodded slightly, "You're aware of how this works, right?"

"I'm in your custody, well, the FBI's but under your supervision and I'm stuck with this on my leg for the next four years. Missing anything?"

"Yeah, just one thing. If you run, and I catch you again, or anyone catches you, you're not back here for four years. This becomes your permanent home," Coricopat replied.

Mistoffelees' spine tensed obviously and he bit the inside of his mouth. "I know.

Coricopat looked him over, "You're going to be tempted to look for Pouncival. Just don't."

"I'll keep your warning in mind," Mistoffelees replied dryly. "But I already told you, that bottle meant goodbye."

"Alright." He nodded to the car, "Hop in. This is a temporary situation. Help me catch the Dutchman, we can make it permanent."

Biting his lip again, the shorter man nodded, walking away from the prison and glancing back at it. "Where are we going then?"

"Your new home." Once they were in the car, Coricopat hesitated, reaching into the back seat and offering Mistoffelees a brown paper bag, "I managed to get this out of the evidence locker. It's not really needed after all."

For a moment the shorter considered him before taking the bag and blinking. "The bottle," he said, voice not revealing any emotion. "Why?" he asked, looking back up to him.

"Because it's the only thing he left you."

Swallowing, the art forger paused before nodding, cradling the bag against his chest. "Thank you."

"Of course," Coricopat pulled away from the prison, heading to the place they'd located for Mistoffelees on the stipend he had per month.

Entering the run down hotel Mistoffelees' entire posture changed again, tensing. "You can't be serious," he managed.

Coricopat was in the middle of speaking to the clerk, who handed him the key to one of the rooms. He turned to Mistoffelees holding out the key, "This is what your budget will pay for in NYC."

"How much is that budget?" Mistoffelees asked, looking around and shrinking back from the counter and walls and trying not to touch anything. "Besides, I think I'm going to get an STD just looking at some of this room."

"Seven hundred a month, same as it costs to house you inside. If you find something better for that, take it. At this point this is as good as it gets."

Mistoffelees took a deep breath. "What about clothes then? This is sorta my entire wardrobe here."

"You learn to like thrift stores. There's one at the end of the block."

The shorter man's mouth dropped and he snapped it shut again, the set of his shoulder's tight. "And do I have a budget for  _that_  too?"

"Well, I'm hardly handing you a credit card." Coricopat fished out a couple of twenties, "See what you can find."

Taking a deep breath, Mistoffelees accepted that. He had asked for this after all, and he'd expected life wouldn't be nearly the same as when he was sitting on piles of stolen art and money, but he'd still expected something else. Something cleaner at the very least.

Reality had a way of sucking. "Alright. How far can I go?" He realized he was holding the bottle a little tightly and tried to relax his grip.

"Anywhere within two miles of where we're standing now." Coricopat shifted a stack of files from under his arm, depositing them in Mistoffelees' hands, "Your homework. I'll be back at 7 am."

Looking from the files back up to Coricopat, Mistoffelees bit back the first several things he planned to say. "I'll see you in the morning then."

The agent nodded once and left, heading back to work.

Looking around the lobby, Mistoffelees bit his lip hard before going up to the actual room. It was even worse than the lobby and he sat down on the bed for a long moment. Finally, he left the bottle on the cleanest surface he could find, and left the files on the bed. Heading out, he tried to avoid touching any of the walls, taking a deep breath when out on the street. Alright, he thought, squaring his shoulders. A thrift store. For a moment he considered using the twenties to buy a deck of cards and increase his income but he was supposed to do better now.

So instead he entered the thrift store.

About ten minutes after he arrived an older lady dressed in furs and wearing expensive jewelry entered, a couple of suit bags in her hands. She moved over to the clerk and set them on the counter, "I'd like to donate these."

The clerk blinked at the bags, going through then. Abandoning the rack of pants he was going through, Mistoffelees meandered over, considering the new clothing.

The woman glanced at Mistoffelees, and then back at the clerk who clearly didn't realize the value of what he was handling.

"Old suits mostly then?" the clerk asked and Mistoffelees was suddenly right there and looking over the counter, picking up a fedora that had fallen to the side of the pile.

The woman smiled thinly at that, "Mhm. That's what they all are."

"May I?" Mistoffelees asked and the clerk shrugged and handed over a jacket. Looking it over, a small smile appeared on Mistoffelees' face. "This is beautiful," he murmured and paused. "It's a Devore!"

That earned a genuine smile from the woman, "They belonged to my late husband, Skimble. And that Devore you're holding he won from Sy himself."

Mistoffelees' eyes widened. "Won it?" he almost squeaked.

"He beat him at a back door draw, it was quite the sight."

"Your husband played  _poker_  with  _Sy Devore_?" Mistoffelees managed.

"He certainly did. And so did I," Jenny added with a teasing grin.

"No," Mistoffelees said, hazel eyes going huge.

"Oh yes. They would let me sit in on a hand once in a while. I wasn't too bad either."

"Been a while since I had a hand of poker," Mistoffelees said, flipping the fedora onto his head. He'd missed hats too.

She smiled at him, "That looks fantastic on you. I'm glad to see you appreciate these. I did hope someone would. I have a whole closet full of them."

"A whole closet?" Mistoffelees asked, eyes widening as if he'd found a treasure trove. He took the jacket from earlier, shrugging into it. It fit his shoulders almost perfectly and he smiled.

"Well, it's more of a guest room. I only use it for storage anymore." She looked over the jacket, "The shoulders fit, and my guess is the waist of the slacks would as well. It would be simple enough to have everything hemmed." She got a wistful look in her eyes, "Skimble use to wear that one when we went dancing. The neighborhood was...much nicer then."

Something in Mistoffelees matched her wistful look. "Been a long time since I had any chances to go dancing," he murmured. "So you live nearby then?"

"Not far. There's a tailor I use between here and there who could see about adjusting the sleeves and pant legs for you probably as well."

"Any estimates on the mileage there?" Mistoffelees asked, hope kindling in his chest. "And was that an invitation?"

"It's a few blocks, not much over a mile is my guess, we' have to clock it on the odometer to get you specifics. And, if you care to accept it was." She extended her hand, "Jennyanydots."

"Mistoffelees," he said, taking her hand and grinning. "And I would love to. Think we can grab the all of two things currently in my possession first?"

She smiled at that, "I think we certainly can."

His grin made his entire face light up as he swept the suits off the counter, leaving the clerk blinking about the entire exchange. Jenny nodded to the clerk and headed for the door, already explaining what would need to be done to clear out the guest room so it could be used again.

w-w-w-w

The next day, right about 6:30, Coricopat entered the hotel he'd left Mistoffelees at and strode over to the clerk. After a moment the older man behind the counter located the note that Mistoffelees had left. The agent blinked at it for a moment before frowning. It simply read "Dear, Coricopat, I have moved 1.6 miles" and gave Jenny's address. Crumpling the note up in his hand, Coricopat left and headed for the address.

Getting out of his car once there, he double checked it before shaking his head at the elegant townhouse that looked to be from an entirely different era, "You have got to be kidding me." He knocked and a maid answered, "I think I have the wrong address," he confessed.

A voice was heard from inside before Jenny came out of one of the side rooms, her small dog cradled in her arms, "You must be Coricopat."

"I...I'm looking for Mistoffelees Caffrey, terribly sorry to have-"

"He's upstairs," she answered with a smile.

Coricopat blinked at that, but followed the maid up to the door to the roof. His grey eyes swept over the roof, finally focusing on Mistoffelees.

The shorter man was lounging on the roof, the remains of a breakfast in front of him and a newspaper in his hands. He looked up when he heard footsteps, giving Coricopat a relaxed grin. "You're early." His entire posture had changed since the day before but there was something still brittle around the corners of his eyes.

The taller man was still blinking at his surroundings, "We're chasing a lead at the airport. We got a hit on Snow White."

"Snow white," Mistoffelees nodded. "What you decoded from the Dutchman's Barcelona messages."

"Right. I see you moved," Coricopat observed dryly.

Mistoffelees looked around. "I think it's nicer than the other place. Nicer people around too."

"Yeah, I really don't remember the other place having a view," Coricopat shook his head. "How did you land this?"

"Well, I went to that thrift store and the lovely Jenny was there donating some of her late husband's clothes and we got to talking and she offered me the old guest and storage room. Except in a house like this the guest suite might as well be its own functioning apartment."

"Of course it should. You got all this for seven hundred?"

"Yeah," Mistoffelees nodded. "And access to her late husband's wardrobe. But I'm to help out around the place too." His grin was back in force.

Coricopat just looked at him, thinking back to the maid, "Right, of course. Feed the dog, things like that."

"Wash the jag," Mistoffelees added. "And watch her granddaughter from time to time."

"She's got  _you_  babysitting?"

"I'll have you know I am very good with children, but…" Mistoffelees shrugged as a slender collage age student walked by.

That earned another long, disbelieving blink as the girl greeted Mistoffelees and settled down on one of the chaise lounges, "Granddaughter?"

"She's an art student," Mistoffelees smirked. "We have a lot to talk about after all."

"You are unbelievable. Go get dressed, we need to get going."

Still smirking, Mistoffelees rose, leaving the rooftop.

Coricopat shook his head, "Unbelievable." He poured himself a cup of coffee as Jenny came out on the roof. "It's perfect. Even the coffee's perfect..."

Jenny laughed, "Can you begrudge him that?"

"That's not jewelry on his ankle," he replied. "He's a felon."

Jenny smirked at him, "So was Skimble."

Great. Just great. Coricopat set the coffee cup down, "I'll go wait for him in the foyer."

"Of course. Have a good day."

A short while later, Mistoffelees strolled down the stairs, suit from yesterday tailored down to his fit and fedora on his head.

The agent shook his head, "You look like a cartoon. What are you wearing?"

"Classic rat-pack Devore," Mistoffelees replied, adjusting his slender tie. He bowed, to show off better, flipping the hat back on his hair.

"Would you stop with the hat? Let's go," he turned and headed for the door.

"You're upset," Mistoffelees said, leaning against the banister.

Coricopat turned, a hand resting on his hip, "Now what would give you that idea?"

"It's not hard," Mistoffelees said. "Your face gets sorta pale and your shoulders get tighter. So what'd I do? What rule did I break?"

"I…look, I work hard. I do my job damn well. And I don't have a ten million dollar view of Manhattan that I share with a twenty-two year-old art student while we sip espresso! You're out for not even a day and manage to con yourself into this place."

"I didn't con myself in here," Mistoffelees replied, shoulders tensing. "She invited me when I appreciated the suits she was bringing in to donate."

"You know this is what gets you into trouble. This is a start of a slope you've slid down before. One of those something-for-nothing schemes that lead to frauds that got you locked up."

"Rent is being paid and I am serious about helping out, taking her dancing when she wants, making sure things are going, this isn't a scam!" Mistoffelees protested.

looked him over and finally shook his head, "Forget it. Just get in the car."

"No, this appears to be an issue," Mistoffelees said. "You have no idea what started that slippery slope for me in the first place, the first time, so can you really claim that you know what's going to set me off this time?"

"Alright, then. Enlighten me. What warning signs  _should_  I look out for?" the FBI agent snapped.

Something froze in the other. "We should go," he said, suddenly moving quickly across the foyer.

Coricopat grit his teeth and followed the smaller man out to the car. The drive to the airport passed in silence. Once they arrived and got parked, Coricopat led the way through the terminal toward the customs' center.

Mistoffelees followed him inside. Macavity and Bombalurina both looked up, Macavity looking the short man over. "Where'd he get that suit that fast?"

"His new landlady had an entire wardrobe of them," Coricopat answered for him.

"What?" Macavity asked, blinking as Bombalurina arched a brow.

"Didn't we put him up in a hotel?"

"I moved," Mistoffelees deadpanned.

"Has a view and everything," their boss added, evenly.

"What sort of view?" Macavity asked.

"This is not the point," Bomba said. "We have a flag, we should deal with it," she turned, glancing at Mistoffelees over her shoulder. "Nice hat, by the way."

Coricopat nodded once, "What exactly do we have?"

"Name's Tony Field, customs flagged him coming in from Spain for our Snow White," Bomba said as they walked.

"Is customs playing nice?" Coricopat asked.

"Usual chest pounding," she replied, Macavity bringing up the rear of their group. "He's in their custody, not ours."

Coricopat shrugged, "Well, that's less paperwork for me. What's he carrying?"

"You'll love it," Mac said as they entered a room. Several suitcases lay open, full of the same children's book.

Coricopat slid on a pair of gloves and picked one of them up, "Blancanieves y Los Siete Enanos?"

"Snow white and her little men," Mistoffelees translated, flipping through it and tilting it up and down.

" _This_  is what triggered our alert?" Coricopat looked at Macavity and Bombalurina, "What do we know about this guy?"

"Rare book dealer," Bomba said, looking over the pictures in the book.

"Anything wrong with his paperwork?"

"No, he's come in three times with the same stuff, declared it each time."

"Huh." He glanced at Mistoffelees, "Are we wasting our time on this one?"

The shorter man paused when everyone stopped to look at him. "Uh, well, they're not limited runs or special editions," he said. "They're not worth much on their own, so if there's anything afoot it's not going to be the books as they are."

Coricopat considered that, "Well, he went to all the trouble of flying them in, the question is still why."

"He was sure nervous for having the right paperwork," Bomba added.

"I want to talk to him if customs will let us," her boss murmured, still thumbing through the children's book.

"I'll set it up," Bomba said. "I'm getting some coffee, you want any?"

"Anything but decaf," he answered. "Thank you."

"Hey, I would like Mistoffelees started, leaning back.

"Coffee shop's outside," Bomba said bluntly, swaying outside.

"You are so far out of your league it's not even funny," Coricopat murmured, glancing at the smaller man.

"She likes the hat, and besides, it's just harmless flirting. Like a dance," Mistoffelees said with a grin and a shrug.

"She would rather be wearing the hat. I can guarantee you're not even on her dance card."

"Not on the dance card?" Mistoffelees arched a brow.

"I know her girlfriend," Coricopat answered.

"Oh," Mistoffelees said, looking down at the book and turning it on the spine. "I thought you people had a policy," he said after a moment.

"That's the military. We don't ask, we don't care."

The book suddenly became even more fascinating. "Oh," he repeated.

"Don't you have a boyfriend?" Mac offered and Mistoffelees tensed.

" _Had_ ," he said, turning the book over to the other side.

Coricopat arched a brow at that, but turned his attention to the cases the books were in. Moments later Bomba entered, glancing around and considering the tension. "Here," she said, handing Coricopat a coffee. "Let's get you talking to him."

Her boss took the coffee gratefully and exited, heading to the room where the suspect was being held.

The man blinked up at him. "What's going on here?" he demanded.

"You're Tony Field, the book dealer, correct?"

"Yes, and who are you?"

"Coricopat Zimmerman, FBI."

"FBI?" he asked in some surprised. "You're kicking things up a notch, aren't you?"

"Well, when a shipment like yours kicks off one of our alerts that tends to happen. What do you deal in when it comes to books?"

"Rare ones," he replied, frowning.

"Rare? You have 600 of this one in your luggage this trip alone."

"Old then," he amended. "Either way."

"So, you brought, over the course of four trips approximately twenty-four hundred copies of Snow White...in Spanish."

"Snow White was hardly created by Disney," he replied. "There are other versions of the story that people enjoy."

"You mean folklore, the virginally pure queen? Like Alexander Pushkin's "Tale of the White Princess and the Seven Knights." Is that what you mean?" He smiled thinly, "What are the books for?"

The book dealer blinked at him, caught off guard. "They..."

Just at that moment the door burst open, a man in a suit entering. "I'm his lawyer," he said and the book dealer's eyes widened. "I'd appreciate if you didn't talk to my client. Constitution and all."

Coricopat turned at that, looking the lawyer over, "Were you chasing the ambulance or did they give you a ride?" He shook his head and exited, closing the door behind him and striding off to find the Customs Inspector.

Bomba was waiting with Mistoffelees. "Felon here was right," she said and Mistoffelees gave her a quick, shut off look. "The books aren't worth much. You can pick them up for a couple bucks on ebay."

"Great." He turned as the customs inspector approached, "Hey, why didn't you tell me Field lawyered up? The second he makes that call I can't talk to him."

The other man blinked at him, "He didn't call anybody."

"Then how did his lawy-Oh goddamnit." He whirled on his heel and took off at a run back to where he'd left the bookseller.

They entered the room to find him head, a needle in his neck. As the customs inspector radioed for paramedics, Coricopat shook his head, backing up away from the scene, "Damn it. Did nobody think to frisk the lawyer?"

"Apparently not," Bomba said and swore as Mistoffelees turned to lead the way back to the books, where Macavity was still going over them.

Once they'd returned to the books, Coricopat turned to him, "All right, as a reformed professional counterfeiter, what is the Dutchman's interest in a bunch of worthless books?"

Drumming his fingers against the table, Mistoffelees considered one of the books in front of him a long moment. Finally he moved forward to open it again, eyes going down to the copy right. "Published 1944 in Madrid," His eyes lit up. "He's after this," he said, sliding a ruler under the top sheet of the book and pulling it off, displaying the blank page folded in half.

"The top sheet?" Coricopat demanded.

"The 1944 Spanish press parchment," Mistoffelees replied.

"So that's what he was after. Good. He'll counterfeit something originally printed on paper like that. There have been three prior shipments with these books," he considered the books, trying to calculate how much that could mean.

"Two blank pages per book is 600 sheets," Mistoffelees said not looking up.

"Too much for paintings, not enough for currency." He shook his head, "Bomba, where's the wallet at?"

"Here," she said, handing it over as Macavity craned his neck to see.

Coricopat thumbed through, finally pulling out a visitor pass to the National Archives. "Here we go. He was here the day before he left for Spain."

"Shall we pay it a visit?" Mistoffelees offered with a grin at the thought.

He eyed the other and then nodded, "I think we shall."

w-w-w-w

Entering the archive building, Mistoffelees craned his neck back, a wistful smile on his face at entering the building for the first time in over four years. Coricopat kept a wary eye on him as they met the archivist and were led into a room where they could see what Field had been interested in.

"I've missed buildings like this," Mistoffelees mumbled, more to himself.

"I'm sure you have," came the murmured response before Coricopat attention returned to the man who was carefully laying a piece of parchment on the table.

"This is what he came to see. The Spanish Victory Bond. He took several photographs of it, said he was going to write a book. It really is a shame he's dead, as the bond has a fascinating history."

"It's Goya," Mistoffelees said, surprised but pleased.

"Yes, beautiful isn't it?" The archivist, Vincent, asked.

Coricopat withdrew one of the parchments from one of the books, holding it over the bond, "What do you know, a perfect fit."

"You said it had a history," Mistoffelees said, looking at the archivist and offering him a charming smile.

"Quite. It was issued during the war. The U.S. issued it to support the Spanish underground in their battle against the Axis. Very few have ever been redeemed. There's speculation that entire boxes were captured and many are still hidden away in the caves of Altamira."

"Whole boxes?" Mistoffelees asked, bending over the bond and pausing.

"Yes, that would be something wouldn't it?" he looked at Coricopat, "This is the only surviving copy."

"Except it's a forgery," Mistoffelees said not looking up.

The FBI agent turned to him, "What are you talking about?"

"It's the ink," he explained. "This is iron-gal mized to match the period colors. But it hasn't dried out yet, and I can smell the gum arabic."

Vincent shook his head, "That's not possible. This has been here since 1952."

"It's been here less than a week," Mistoffelees said, raising his eyes to meet the other's before looking at Coricopat.

"That-"

Coricopat sighed, "If he says it, I believe him. If we can take it and have it tested? I'll make sure the utmost care s afforded to it." Mistoffelees turned on his most charming smile.


	3. Sitting in the Dark, Misquoting Ginsburg

Macavity entered the conference room, dropping a file on the table. Coricopat looked up at him, "How old?"

"Six days," he replied. "Coincides with Tony's visit just about perfectly."

"We'll pull surveillance video to back it up," Bombalurina added. Mistoffelees sat at the oval table, throwing a ball up and down and his feet up on the shiny surface.

"Good," their boss nodded. "So the new question is why go through the trouble of making a really nice forgery, on the right kind of paper just to stick it back in the archives."

"Is the bond still negotiable?" Mistoffelees asked, tossing the ball up and catching it again.

"It's a zero option, so it never expires. What's it worth?" Cori answered.

"Thousand dollars face value, drawing on nine percent," Mac answered, picking up a calculator.

"Compounded for sixty-four years," Bomba said, leaning over his shoulder.

"Two hundred, forty-eight thousand dollars," Mistoffelees said, still tossing the ball.

Both of the agents looked over at him in surprise. "What he said," Mac said, setting the calculator down in some awe.

"Quarter million's nothing to sneeze at. And he's got six hundred sheets of the stuff," Coricopat shook his head, starting to pace.

Bomba and Mac both looked over to Mistoffelees. "Hundred fifty million, give or take," he said after half a second, tossing the ball back up once he'd come to that conclusion. Macavity whistled, half at the number and half at how quickly Mistoffelees did it in his head.

"He'd be a rich man if he could pass them off, but that still doesn't' tell us why he would take out the real bond to put in a forgery," the head of the team muttered.

"Yeah it does," Mistoffelees said. "If he says he found the boxes in Spain on a trip, what's gonna happen?"

"They'd be..." Coricopat smiled, "taken to the archives and compared against the original."

"Which is already replaced with his copy," Mistoffelees grinned. "So of course they're gonna match."

"Oh this is good." Coricopat caught the ball Mistoffelees was tossing, bouncing it from one hand to the other, "This is really good. All right, so let's think about this for a minute."

"Hey!" Mistoffelees protested as Macavity's phone rang and he stepped out of the room.

Coricopat tossed the ball back to him, "So, if he's going to all this trouble, is there something on the bond that would mark it as different, or is he just covering up the age difference?"

"Age difference is most likely," Mistoffelees said, catching the ball and still looking offended.

"Well, let's see what we can run down on both angles."

Outside in the hallway, Macavity was on the phone with Griddlebone. "Would you believe me if I said I was pulling into the drive way right now?"

"You lost track of time," Grids sighed, "it happens."

"I hope you didn't make dinner," he sighed. "

"Did you forget who you married? I'm smarter than that." On her end of the line she snapped her fingers for the dog, motioning the large golden lab up to the table to eat Mac's dinner. "How's Mistoffelees doing?"

"He met Bomba," Macavity grinned. "But he can do math like a crazy person in his head and already caught things we wouldn't have."

"Well, that's promising. I shouldn't wait up them?"

"I'm leaving. Ten minutes, twenty at most," Macavity attempted.

"I know," she sighed, "I'll see you when you get home."

"Promise," he repeated, "I'll see you soon." Hanging up the phone he turned and headed back into the conference room.

Coricopat looked up as he came back in, "Well, if we're done here we'll meet up tomorrow again."

"I'm done if everyone else is," Macavity replied. "Want a ride home?"

His boss nodded, "If you don't mind." He glanced at Mistoffelees, "Come on, you're with us."

The shorter man looked up and glanced at Macavity. "He's driving?" he said, coloring his voice with distaste.

"Yeah," Mac grinned at him. "I'm a good driver, promise."

"My car got taken home already, so we're riding with him," Coricopat said with a shrug.

Mistoffelees sighed, rising and reaching over for his hat and coat, Flipping his hat onto his head, he trailed after the two FBI agents, trying to not eavesdrop on their chatter.

"How's Griddlebone handling you being late again?" Coricopat asked, settling into the passenger seat of Macavity's sedan.

Macavity shrugged as Mistoffelees slid into the back seat, crossing his arms over his chest. "Like she always does," Macavity said. "I wonder what she does with all those dinners she cooks."

"Your dog's rather fat..." The other agent remarked.

"Dude," Macavity protested. "While I believe that's entirely true? Can I not think about it? I have to eat off those dishes."

"I'm sure she washes them after."

"That doesn't make that better," Macavity grumbled.

"Maybe she just scrapes it into his bowl?" Coricopat offered with a shrug.

"Let's hope so," Mac snorted. "So, any plans for the weekend?"

"Not really. Probably dinner with my sister again. You?"

"Oh you know, usual stuff. Probably catch the game and I think I gotta fix the sink..."

Mistoffelees rolled his eyes in the back seat. "With Griddlebone?"

"He claims she likes to watch the Giants," Coricopat explained.

"Even on their anniversary?" Mistoffelees asked sweetly, directing the comment to Coricopat as Macavity braked in the middle of the street.

"God! Damn! I see this coming six months out and then I take it right in the teeth, every time." He heard the car behind them honk and quickly started moving again.

"Oh, that's right. Your anniversary is this Sunday isn't it?" Coricopat glanced at him. "You've still got a couple days."

"Yes," Mac said and started swearing under his breath as he changed lanes. "But this is what happened last year. I said I'd make up for it with something special, not just a corner booth at Donatella's and a romp in the sheets."

"Skip the dinner," Mistoffelees said, voice still falsely sweet from the back seat.

Coricopat turned to shoot the felon a look at that, "Mac, you've been married for ten years, surely you know  _something_  you can do."

"Like what? I mean, she's Grids. How the hell do you go about impressing someone who plans dinner parties for diplomats before breakfast?"

"Well, what's she like?" Coricopat asked.

"Sexually?" Mac asked.

"Existentially, please," Mistoffelees interjected. "I do not want to hear about the other bit. What makes her feel alive?" Coricopat nodded his agreement, glancing at Mac for an answer.

"I don't know," Mac said finally. "At least I don't know that's on my budget."

"How could you not know?" Mistoffelees demanded, aghast.

"Well, there is a budget to consider," Coricopat remarked.

"You seriously don't know what your wife likes?" Mistoffelees repeated. "You've been married for how many years?"

"Ten," Macavity replied.

"And you don't know what makes her happy? How long are you planning on being marries again?"

"He seems to be doing pretty well," came Coricopat's remark. "She hasn't changed her identity and fled the country to get away from him."

Macavity glanced over at his partner as Mistoffelees abruptly snapped his jaw shut. After a moment's silence he muttered, "How much further?"

The lead agent flinched, "I...didn't mean that..."

Biting his lip Mistoffelees didn't say anything, looking out the window instead.

Coricopat leaned his head back against the seat, murmuring directions to Macavity as they reached the corners to turn at. Pulling up, Macavity froze. "You're kidding me," he said, staring at the corner house. "How the hell he'd land  _this_?"

"Found it at the thrift store," Coricopat muttered.

Mac looked at him in shock as Mistoffelees got out. "Tomorrow at seven?" he asked.

"Tomorrow at seven," came Coricopat's confirmation.

Slamming the door, Mistoffelees stalked back inside. Macavity gave Coricopat a long look before finally pulling away. "Are we going to have any problems?" he asked, trying to keep his voice neutral.

"I don't think so. I'll do my best to keep my tongue in check."

"That'd be nice to see," Mac remarked. "Since I don't think I saw it at all today."

"Thank you for that, Mac."

"For what?" Mac frowned. "It was my wife he was insulting and I thought you were being unbelievably harsh. We would be the same place we've been on this case for the last five years if it wasn't for him. He's made more progress in a day than we have in the last year and you can't say a civil word?"

"Three years," he corrected. "And...yes, I was unreasonably harsh. I still don't think I want to be working with him."

"Then why'd you let him out of prison?" Macavity demanded. "This was your idea and it's reaping us benefits already so what is the bee in your goddamn proverbial bonnet?"

"This was his idea. All of a sudden I just see liabilities...And alright, maybe I'm a little pissed about the house. I just keep seeing a slippery slope that ends with him back in prison and me in forced retirement."

His fellow agent rolled his eyes. "It was his idea but you didn't have to take it up. Come on, Cor, when I'm giving you relationship advice you might want to think about it. He got caught and served his time. By rights he should be free now-or should even have been two years ago. The slate's clean until he screws up again, okay?"

Coricopat drew a deep breath, "Alright. I'll  _try_ to keep that in mind."

Pulling up around a corner, Mac stopped the car and gave his friend a long look. "Are you sure there isn't something else going on here I should be aware of?"

"What else would be going on here?" Coricopat turned in his seat to look at Macavity.

"Hell if I know, but this guy's always gotten under your skin. Then you let him out of prison and bitch him out for doing a good job."

"I..." he sighed, "Alright, I'll stop."

"Good," Mac said. "Now, I have a lovely wife to get home to and try to plot out a splendid anniversary for said lovely wife."

"Good luck with that." Coricopat got out of the car, heading up to his apartment. Macavity watched him go, shaking his head slightly.

w-w-w-w

Entering Jenny's house, Mistoffelees closed the door, locking it behind him. The downstairs was darkened and he dropped his hat on the banister of the stairs, bracing his arms against is and trying to breath evenly for a long moment.

There was the sound of wine being poured into a goblet, a voice coming out of the darkness, "I saw the best mind in my generation get run down by the drunken taxi cab of absolute reality."

Mistoffelees snapped his head up, tensing for a moment before his shoulders sagged and he approached the dining room table, flipping the light on on his way. "The hell, Jerrie?" Mistoffelees asked, smirking. "Sitting in the dark, misquoting Ginsburg?"

"It was one of those nights," the redhead replied. "Besides, the light's how they find you."

Mistoffelees snatched the wine bottle from the table, considering drinking it straight but too much of a wine elitist to really contemplate it. Rummaging around for a glass he poured it, swallowing it down more quickly than was proper. "One of those nights indeed. You really can't just help yourself you know, how'd you even get in?"

"I used this," he raised his fist. "I knocked. Introduced myself to Jenny. She invited me to wait for you and enjoy the wine. Have you seen her granddaughter?"

"Yes," Mistoffelees said, wrinkling his nose at the wine and upending the rest of the bottle into the glass. "I'm going to have to stop anything between you and that granddaughter before it starts, by the way."

"And why's that?"

"Because I like living here too much and I know you too well, Mungojerrie Wheeler."

Jerrie offered him a grin, "You are no fun. How'd your day go?"

Meeting his eyes, Mistoffelees poured a third glass of wine.

"That good, huh?"

"Better. And I was a fool for thinking it would be otherwise," he said, topping off Jerrie's glass.

Jerrie shook his head, "Yes, you probably should have seen it coming. I told you that. Or I think I did. I might have dreamed that."

"We haven't talked since I broke out of prison. Besides sending you my address," Mistoffelees drawled.

"Right. Then I dreamed it. Anyhow, there's that issue about working with the guy who put you in prison."

"Yes, I am well aware of that issue," Mistoffelees drawled, working through the third glass. "He might have said one nice thing to me in the last week. No, he didn't even say it, he just handed something nice to me."

"So, on which level was this a good idea?"

"On the level of another four years of prison with probably no appeal," Mistoffelees replied. "I get better wine out here."

"Guess that's true," Jerrie admitted, looking him over again.

Mistoffelees shrugged. "It was better than staying locked in a cell with no privacy."

"Yeah. You gonna make it through four years workin' with the feds?"

"Maybe my contacts with them will get me an appeal this time," Mistoffelees said. "Unlike last time."

"Right, well," he raised his glass, "here's to that."

Mistoffelees rolled his eyes, starting on a fourth glass. "How've the last few months treated you then?"

"Eh, same as they always do."

"That's reassuring," Mistoffelees said.

"Yeah. Life can be repetitious. Can be nice, if you let it. You've got a nice place here."

"I like it," Mistoffelees said. "Jenny's sweet."

"She seems like just the sort you need, honestly."

"I certainly hope so," Mistoffelees agreed, finishing that glass too.

"Slow down on the wine, Misto...don't want to wake up with a headache tomorrow..." Jerrie warned with a small frown.

"I don't care, at the moment," Mistoffelees returned. "I've worked through headaches before."

Jerrie looked at him for a long moment, "So you're saying you're okay with dealing witht eh FBI while hungover?"

"It wouldn't go worse than today," Mistoffelees said, taking the fourth glass.

"What happened today? Beyond dealing with the suits?"

"I think they were enough," he said. "Along, of course, with reminding me that my lover skipped out on me after changing his identity. I can't find him, Jerrie, and I don't know why he left me."

"I did some looking so far, but..." Jerrie shook his head, "He's a ghost. I've used all my channels, he's not in town anymore. I can try further afield, but..."

"Please," was all Mistoffelees said.

His friend nodded, "I'll see what I can find."

Offering him a strained smile, Mistoffelees took another swallow before pulling out the forgery, which he'd swiped from the office. "And I need to know who did this." Partly it was a change in subject, but he had been meaning to bring it up.

Jerrie looked over the forgery, examining it closely, "It's good.  _Really_  good. That is the problem with this sort of art-you can't take credit of it."

Mistoffelees winced. "Not usually. Not officially."

Jenny came down the stairs, pausing in the doorway, "Oh, Mistoffelees, you're home."

He offered her a tired smile, unable to muster the energy to be charming. "Thanks for letting Jerrie in. You have a good day?"

"It was good enough. How was your day, dear?"

His smile only turned more strained, lifting the glass slightly. "Better than many days that came before it. I was just expecting too much from it was all."

She looked him over, sitting down next to him, "What happened? Do you want to talk about it?"

"My lover left me," he said, lifting his glass slightly again. "I'm working for the man who put in me in prison in the first place and he is acting like I'm a dog on a leash, which I am." For a long moment he paused, and blushed. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have..."

Jenny shook her head, "No need to apologize. I was rather wondering when it would sink in for you. This house is your home for as long as you want it, which means it's alright to speak your mind in it."

He looked at her a long moment and leaned his head against her shoulder. "I did nothing to deserve that."

She wrapped an arm around him in response, "You lived a life that deserves that."

Swallowing, he curled up slightly. "Thank you."

"You're welcome. Everyone needs a home to call their own. Consider this yours for now."

"So long as you don't get sick of me, I intend to for a very long time," he said, glancing over at Jerrie who was smiling faintly as he continued looking over the forgery rather than obviously eavesdrop on them.

"I won't get sick of you, Mistoffelees. You, whether you know it or not, are a treasure."

He managed not to say anything about no one else seeming to think that. "Still, thank you," he said softly. "You trust easily, don't you?"

She smiled gently, "Not necessarily. But I like to think I know the sort of man you can be."

"I hope you do," he said and glanced over at Jerrie. "Do you think you can get me any leads on that forgery?"

Jerrie shrugged, watching them, "I can try. I'll let you know."

"Thanks," Mistoffelees said softly.

w-w-w-w

The next morning found Mistoffelees sitting out on the patio, a cheap set of watercolors beside him and a pad he'd picked up with one of Coricopat's twenties in front of him. He'd stayed up late the night before doing several water colors, unable to sleep and was finishing another one over breakfast.

Coricopat had convinced the maid to let him in and up to see Mistoffelees. He exited onto the patio, looking the other over, "Mistoffelees?"

"Yeah?" he asked, not looking up from his brush strokes.

"Are you ready to go?"

Mistoffelees glanced at his watch and winced. "Sorry," he said, finishing the stroke and looking over the painting before standing. "I didn't realize it was that close to seven."

"What are you working on?"

"Just a painting," Mistoffelees replied with a small shrug. "Don't worry, it's not a forgery." Bitterness had entered the edge of his voice.

"I never said it was," came the testy response.

"No, but you got that look," Mistoffelees said, walking into the guest room, which was starting to look slightly more like somewhere he would be found. "Like you were going to talk about slippery slopes again."

Coricopat's jaw tensed as he followed him to the door, "So maybe I had half a thought of it, but no."

"Do you mind?" Mistoffelees asked when the other entered the apartment with him. "I need to get dressed."

The agent paused, "Oh. Right. Sorry." He slipped out, "I'll be downstairs."

Mistoffelees watched him go, and rubbed his forehead. Jerrie had been right about the headache, and it had been a very long time since he'd gotten drunk.

Coricopat leaned against the wall at the base of the stairs, waiting for Mistoffelees. He offered Jenny a faint smile when he saw her, but only got a frown for his effort.

Moments later, Mistoffelees came down the stairs, hat already firmly on his head and looking a little worse for wear. "Here," he said, holding out the forgery. "I have a lead on who did this."

"You lifted the forgery?" Coricopat gaped at him, "Are you out of your mind?"

Mistoffelees shrugged. "There was no other way I was gonna find the information in time."

"So you stole it?  _This_  is what I'm talking about! You don't just do things like that and not risk ending up in prison again!" He turned at a sound from Jenny only to be solidly slapped. He gaped at her, "What-?"

"You will not threaten him in this house and you will keep it to a minimum everywhere else as well, understood? He's a human being, and you've no right to treat him as less because of the mistake of being caught."

Coricopat opened his mouth to say something, thought better of it, and finally nodded, "We need to be going."

Mistoffelees gaped between them a long moment, making a soft sound that wasn't quite a word. "A-alright," he said finally.

The FBI agent turned and headed for his car, not interested in sticking around the foyer any longer.

The shorter man looked at Jenny. "I can't tell whether I should be scandalized or thank you," he said, voice low.

"Assume the first for now. Do try to have a better day today. I'll have some wine for you, but perhaps water with it tonight?"

He laughed, leaning over and kissing her cheek. "Thank you," he said. "I'll see you tonight. For  _a_  glass of wine."

Jenny offered him a smile and a kiss on his cheek in response, "Good. I'll see you tonight. Stay safe."

He nodded, sliding from the house outside, looking around before spotting Coricopat's car and heading over slowly.

Coricopat glanced up as Mistoffelees got in, "I..." He sighed, "I'm sorry about last night. And this morning."

"Sorry?" Mistoffelees asked, wary, the line of his shoulders tight in the well cut suit.

"Yes, sorry. As in, I was out of line and I apologize."

Mistoffelees' expression remained closed off. He knew he shouldn't press this but the words were somewhat shocking non-the-less. "Didn't take you for the type to be sorry," he said to the pavement. "But... thank you, I guess."

Coricopat offered a half-shrug, "You mentioned a lead?"

"Yeah," he said. "The guy initialed the work. And he's really the only one good enough on the market right now to pull this off."

"He  _signed_  it?" The agent looked skeptical, "Why would he do that?"

"Very few cons don't want some credit for their work," Mistoffelees said, meeting his eyes. "I signed the forged bonds."

"You what? Where?"

Mistoffelees considered him a moment and shrugged. "Look at the bank seal under polarized light sometime."

Coricopat blinked at that, "...Of course."

The shorter man shrugged again. "The trick is being subtle but still being able to be recognized by your own crew."

"I see. So you know who signed this one?"

"Yeah," Mistoffelees said, opening the door and sliding in. "He's doing a restoration of a church off third street. Think we could swing by on the way in?"

Coricopat considered and then nodded, "Yeah I think so. I'll call Mac, let him know we're running a hunch."

Nodding, Mistoffelees looking out the window rather than look at Coricopat in such an enclosed space.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so VS' knowledge of the legal system isn't fantastic but here's something that bothered her about the show: Neal (Mistoffelees' character for those of you who might not have seen it) was considered a model prisoner but he was there the full term. As far as I remember, a prisoner was supposed to be able to appeal their sentence for good behavior at half their term. Was his just too short or something? Anyway, since the show plays fast and loose with legal stuff, we will too and say he should have been able to appeal and get out and didn't manage it for some reason or another. Of course, VS, as a historian, has this really awkward thing of understanding the legal system of the 1920s better than the current one. Things like this lead to moments where people go "It hasn't been that way for fifty years!" and your author sorta goes "huh?"
> 
> Lesson: Your authors will try to be as close to the legal system as possible, or at the very least the way the show plays with it.


	4. Then Yes, I Lied to a Priest

They pulled up to the church a short while later, Coricopat getting out of the car and eyeing the structure. Mistoffelees rose from the car, looking over the church. "Great work," he said, looking the facade over. "Beautiful old church."

"Yes, it's lovely. For a church. Shall we see about getting inside?"

Mistoffelees gave him a sidelong look. "Not a fan of churches?" he asked as he went for the door.

"It's a church. Is there much to be a fan of?" Coricopat followed him, considering the church. He hadn't set foot in a Catholic church since he was fifteen-willingly since he was thirteen.

"Beautiful artwork, gorgeous architecture, and a fascinating history," Mistoffelees said, taking his hat off and looking at the ceiling and whistling.

The agent nodded slightly, "I'll grant you the artwork and architecture. And I suppose in some cases the history."

The local priest approached them, "Excuse me. You can't come in, we're closed for restoration."

Mistoffelees glanced at Coricopat before back to the priest. "Oh, could we... just a moment, father, if you don't mind," he said, taking the priest to the side.

The priest looked nearly as confused as Coricopat at that motion.

"Please, Father," Mistoffelees said, hat still in hand and looking unbearably earnest. "My best friend there, he's having a crisis of the soul. He's a married man, you see, and he has the most  _devastatingly_ beautiful assistant at work, a deeply provocative woman. He's being tempted. More than tempted even. He's not wearing his wedding band to work anymore, just look."

The priest glanced in that direction and sighed, looking like he'd heard it before, "It's very common with men his age. Unfortunately, very common."

"And I want to confront him about this before he tears his life apart," Mistoffelees said, resting a hand on the Priest's shoulder. "He has a lot of faults. I mean, don't get me started, he's a mess. But he's a very spiritual man. I know this place will be where my words have the more effect."

"We are in the city of churches. Unfortunately we're closed. Surely you can find another..."

"This is where he got married," Mistoffelees said, eyes widening slightly to make himself look even more sincere.

The priest glanced toward Coricopat again and finally nodded, "Five minutes."

"Thank you, Father," Mistoffelees said, turning and approaching Coricopat. "Come on, we have five minutes," he said, taking his arm and dragging him toward one of the restored paintings.

"Did you just lie to the priest?" Coricopat eyed him, but allowed himself to be dragged along.

"Do you find Bombalurina provocative and sexy?" Mistoffelees replied.

"Not especially?"

"Then yes, I lied to the priest," Mistoffelees said, hopping up into one of the corner alters, looking over the painting with a pocket magnifying glass.

The agent shook his head, considering the painting as well, "So what are we supposedly doing here?"

"You're being tempted sexually, and it's tearing apart your marriage and you were married here," Mistoffelees replied, scanning the painting, going up and down.

"...Married. Right. Well, I shall keep that in mind."

"Got a problem with that?" Mistoffelees asked with a smirk. "Don't you want to get married?"

"Not in the near future, no. I don't foresee that happening. Not in a church like this anyhow."

"Really?" Mistoffelees asked, still scanning and only half listening for an answer.

"Really. You sound surprised?"

"You seem the type to go the whole married in a church, living in suburbia thing," Mistoffelees replied. "So very middle class and all that. Ah, I found something."

"Then you rather have me pegged wrong. What did you find?"

"Here, C and H," Mistoffelees said, moving to the side and holding the glass out for him. "And what should I peg you as then?"

Coricopat studied the point he indicated, frowning, "Maybe...And oh who knows."

"That's not an answer," Mistoffelees said with an arched brow. "What's the frown for?"

"You're sure that's a C and H?"

"Yes, I'm sure," Mistoffelees rolled his eyes slightly.

Coricopat considered it again, starting to speak, but was cut off as the man in charge of the restoration approached, "Can I help you, gentlemen?" He glanced at Mistoffelees, "Your face is rather familiar. Perhaps I've seen it on the news? Or a most wanted web page?"

"Mistoffelees Caffrey," he said, with a strained smile and holding his hand out.

"Forgive me if I don't shake hands with an art thief," the man responded icily.

"I was never arrested for art theft," Mistoffelees said, keeping his body relaxed only through force of will.

"Not arrested, no. But as I recall you were known as quite the Renaissance criminal. So you can understand my concern."

"He was released, and paid his dues," Coricopat answered testily.

The artist's brow arched, "And you are?"

"Just a friend," the FBI agent returned, missing the sideways look Mistoffelees gave him.

"Well _, friend_. The church is closed."

Mistoffelees offered him a rakish smile, hopping down from his perch. "Of course. We got what we came here for." He paused in front of the artist. "You're doing wonderful work here."

The smile he received was thin, "Thank you. Good day, gentlemen."

Mistoffelees swayed out of the church, arrogance not quite dripping off him but close.

Coricopat managed to dodge the priest who he was sure was ready to advise him on resisting the lusts of the flesh. He fell into step beside Mistoffelees once they were outside, "Well, I'm curious. We'll check him out."

"Good," Mistoffelees said, frowning back at the church.

"You alright there?" the FBI agent asked after a brief mental battle with himself.

He rolled his shoulders. "Fine. I just don't like being called a criminal by a criminal, like he gets to be self-righteous for not getting caught."

"Well, we prove this and he doesn't get that right at all. Hop in, we'll head to the office."

"My my, agent Zimmerman, that was almost kind of you to say," Mistoffelees snarked, sliding into the car.

Coricopat drew a calming breath and got into the car, starting it up and heading for the FBI's offices.

The shorter man glanced over at him, pausing as he considered what he should say.

"I'll tell you what, we catch this guy in the next week and I'll tell you what you should have me pegged for, alright?" Coricopat offered, trying not to be disturbed by the other's silence.

Mistoffelees arched a brow. "Not a threat of prison? Alright, fine."

"That threat isn't always my doing, you know. Besides, that hinges on catching him. My information hinges on catching him in the next seven days."

Mistoffelees laughed. "You're setting me up to fail, aren't you?"

"Setting you up to fail?" Coricopat offered him a ghost of a grin, "Why would I do that?"

"Because you don't like answering questions," Mistoffelees replied. "You like being all mysterious more than I do."

Coricopat shrugged, "I just like things to be my own. I work at an agency that specializes in digging up secrets." He paused for a moment, "Which kind of makes me curious about the wine bottle. What's it's significance?"

"How do you mean?" Mistoffelees asked, voice snapping into neutral.

"I'm just curious. Why it would be the good-bye he left you."

"It's an '82 Bordeaux," the smaller man started and paused long enough that it seemed like that might be his entire answer.

"An $800 dollar bottle of wine?"

"It only costs that when it's full," Mistoffelees replied. "I got it empty."

"Empty?" Coricopat asked, in some surprise. After all, the younger man was known for wanting and then stealing the best life had to offer.

"Yeah," he said, looking out the window. "When we... well, when we were first together we had nothing. But I got that bottle. We'd fill it up with whatever cheap wine we could actually afford and we'd sit in that crappy apartment and drink it over cold pizza and pretend we were somewhere. Pretend we had a life we wanted and dreamed about getting there."

"Did it help?"

"Help what? Being dirt poor?" Mistoffelees asked, looking over at him.

"Help plan for your dreams?" the agent asked instead.

"Sorta," Mistoffelees shrugged. "It was the promise of a better life that I never fulfilled. Instead he got someone locked away for half a decade. I'm not even sure I can blame him for skipping town."

Coricopat glanced at him, "You tried though."

"Tried and failed really damn hard," Mistoffelees snorted. "I'm not sure I get points for trying."

The agent shook his head, but fell silent. There wasn't much he could say that wouldn't get the blame on him, or that wouldn't have a similar response.

Mistoffelees glanced at him and sighed softly. "Which is entirely what you needed to hear, right? Isn't it great seeing the fruition of your job?"

"Not always, no. There's some satisfaction in seeing a culprit caught, but not in seeing them get far more time than was originally sentenced."

Paying more attention to his lap for a moment, Mistoffelees swallowed. "Like me?"

Coricopat nodded slightly, "Doubling the sentence was harsh. Unnecessarily so."

He snorted, looking out the window. "Or the fact no one would bother to hear appeals."

That earned a glance, "No one, what?"

"What?" Mistoffelees looked at him. "If you noticed I served the full term. No appeals or anything apparently. I think someone, somewhere, has a vendetta against me."

"I thought you at least had the opportunity to have one heard, or get the request sent. But..." he shook his head, "Thinking back I didn't even hear about any attempts for an appeal."

"They were there," Mistoffelees replied. "You think I wanted to stay in that place?"

"No, I really doubt you did. I'm just saying, I didn't hear about them."

Mistoffelees looked up as Coricopat pulled in to park, unbuckling before the car had come to a full stop. The FBI agent parked the car and got out, glancing at the forger before heading into the offices.

Bombalurina was waiting as they entered, Mistoffelees trailing behind Coricopat. She held a file out. "That Hagen? He's leaving the country. Booked a flight through private charter, a company in Barcelona and he's leaving the 19th."

Her boss took the file, flipping it open, "The 19th? A week? Seriously? Damn it. When did he book that?"

"About fifteen minutes ago," she said. "Had it flagged down."

Mistoffelees started cursing.

"Goddamnit! We tipped him off. Is there any connection to our books, or the bonds...or the murder? Ideally the murder but we'll take any of them," Coricopat said.

"No, he's impressive as hell," the red head shook her head. "He keeps himself clean."

"Great. I want every available agent on this, Bomba. You know the good ones. Steal them if you have to. I want everything about this guy and I want no excuses. Anything gets in your way..."

"Forge your signature," she replied, already moving. "Got it."

He glanced at Mistoffelees, "Stakes just rose. We've got to prove to my boss that this works. And we have to get this done this week."

"I know," he said softly, spine tense.

"Well, we'd better get working then."

w-w-w-w

That night, Mistoffelees tried his hardest not to slam his way back into Jenny's house, feeling tired and out of sorts and strained. His head hadn't stopped pounding all day. Jerrie was seated at Jenny's grand piano and looked up at that, "You're later than last night..."

"Working man now," he said, leaning against the piano. "With a hangover. You find anything?"

"I did, yeah. Your hypothetical tree in the forest made a sound." He slid a photograph across the piano to Mistoffelees, "here's the echo."

Reaching forward with jerky movements, Mistoffelees picked up the picture, letting out a long breath when he saw the photograph of Pounce. For a moment his expression softened before he drifted to the corner of the picture, where a hand was holding onto Pounce's shoulder, a ring obvious. "I may lose him again," he said quietly.

"Lose him? What do you mean? I just found him for you!" Jerrie looked at him, aghast.

"So did someone else," he said, dropping the picture between them and bracing his hands on the piano. "And I don't know who."

"Then we figure that out. You're with the FBI now, and we've still got contacts. Or I do, and you've got me."

"Thanks, Jer," he said, offering him a strained smile. "Also, we were right about the forger."

"Hagen? Of course we were."

"Except he saw me and we have less than week to link him to the bonds or I go back."

"Go...back? You mean... Can they do that?" Jerrie asked, looking even more aghast than he had a moment ago.

Mistoffelees nodded. "They certainly can and are hanging it over my head."

"Damn. Well, we'd better link him to them. He signed them, after all, shouldn't be as hard as all that should it?"

"Initials aren't enough, apparently," Mistoffelees sighed. "We have to catch him in the act or something."

"Great. Well, we'll do it. We're us, and we've got the ruling class on our sides now too. Or on your side."

"I'll take them on my side rather than yours," Mistoffelees said with a faint smile.

Jerrie grinned, "Good. I don't want them knowing about me. You know the drill."

"Always do," Mistoffelees agreed, picking the photo up again.

Jenny came down the stairs, "Mistoffelees, is that you?"

"Hey, dear," he said, offering her a tired smile.

"Can I get you anything, dearie?" his landlady asked.

"No," he smiled. "At least not anything I should have."

"How did your day go today?"

"Better. There was even civility," he replied, taking the photo and folding it.

"Good. I do hope that continues."

"Thank you," he said. "For the slap earlier. I think it helped."

She smiled, "Let me know if he needs more sense knocked into him."

"I think this should be enough," Mistoffelees assured, fiddling with the photo. "I should turn in early tonight though."

Jenny considered him, but nodded, "Alright. Sleep well, Mistoffelees."

"Thank you," he said, leaning over to kiss her cheek and heading up to the apartment upstairs.

She watched him go, shaking her head, "Poor dear. You're welcome to stay if you like, Jerrie. If not, please lock up when you leave." With those words she headed up the stairs to her own room for the night.

: Once in his room, Mistoffelees leaned against the door for a long moment, staring at the photo of Pounce, one hand raising to trace over the other's facial features, remembering all the times, years past when he'd been able to actually touch that face. Finally with a shake of his head, he dropped the photo on the table, crawling into bed and curling up in the center of the bed.

w-w-w-w

Coricopat entered the house the next day, making his way up to Mistoffelees' in-house apartment. He stepped inside, hearing the shower running. He considered waiting outside, but dismissed that. Making his way over to the table to sit down, he paused and picked up the photo of Pouncival where Mistoffelees had dropped it the night before. He frowned at it, and set it down before settling in one of the chairs.

Moments later Mistoffelees stepped out, toweling his hair out and at best described as half dressed. He stopped when he saw Coricopat at his table. "Do you mind?" he asked, leaning back, arching one hip.

The FBI agent looked up, his gaze darting away quickly enough, "Hm? Oh, no?"

"I meant showing up in my home uninvited," Mistoffelees said, looking at the table and freezing.

"I always arrive promptly at seven. The door was open." He glanced at the photo, "It's a good picture. New?"

"That's not strictly speaking your business," Mistoffelees said, moving over and picking it up, towel from his hair draping over one arm.

"Isn't it? I remember there being a conversation about how you weren't supposed to be looking for him."

"A photo counts as looking for someone?" Mistoffelees asked.

"If it was taken recently, say within the last couple months, then yes."

"Does it?" Mistoffelees asked, swallowing.

Coricopat sighed, "Where did you get the photo, Mistoffelees?"

"A friend," Mistoffelees said. "I didn't seek it out or find it myself. I promise."

"I'll take your word for it. But I reiterate, no detours to go looking for him, understood?"

"I'd have to find some place to start for that," Mistoffelees replied. "Now, do I get to keep my photo or are you going to try to confiscate it?"

Coricopat looked at him for a long moment and then pushed the picture across the table toward Mistoffelees, "I don't have a use for it."

"Thank you," Mistoffelees said, snatching it back and holding it protectively to his chest.

"You want me to leave while you finish getting dressed?"

Mistoffelees shook his head, moving into the walk in closet and slamming the door behind him.

Coricopat rolled his eyes skyward, but rose, calling through the door, "I'll be downstairs."

Once he heard the door close, Mistoffelees poked his head out of the closet. Moving across the room while he finished buttoning up his shirt, tie hanging out his neck, he set the photo of Pounce down on the end table, picking up a note that Jerrie had left for him that morning. He palmed it into his pocket before going back into the closet for a suit jacket.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh boys. They really don't get along well at this point. And VS swears everything one or the other says has more layers than an onion when they're talking.


	5. Just Open the Door

Once they arrived at the FBI offices, Coricopat made his way quickly up to his glassed-in office, leaving Mistoffelees to his own devices while he checked on any information that they may have recovered regarding Hagen. It wasn't much, and it sure as hell wasn't enough to catch him in the next week. The man was good. Almost too good.

Mistoffelees had been given a desk out on the main floor of the office. He bothered to pick up a file and thumb through it, as if information had just come across his desk, palming Jerrie's not into the file before snapping it shut and going up to Coricopat's office.

The agent looked up, "Find something?"

"Warehouse down by the docks," Mistoffelees replied. "Hagan runs it through a shell corporation out of Guatemala."

"How did you find that? We've got some of the best agents looking into him and I've seen nothing about it."

"I have a different line of contacts," Mistoffelees said. "Which is sorta the point of this arrangement isn't it? Are we going to check it out or what?"

Coricopat looked at him for a long moment before getting to his feet and grabbing his coat, "Alright. Let's go."

"What was that look for?" Mistoffelees protested as he trailed after him.

"Try to keep things legal, alright? I really don't need to cover us both for anything that might go wrong if you don't."

"I have done nothing illegal," Mistoffelees replied. "I got a contact, who passed on information. Is there something illegal in that?"

"No. I'm just saying try to avoid it. Slopes and everything I've already said," they reached the parking garage and Coricopat got into his car. Mistoffelees muttered something that sounded like taking his slopes and eating them before plopping into the car.

They headed out to the dock area, Coricopat parking the car a block away from the warehouse and getting out. His gaze swept over the docks, "Less motion down here than I expected."

"Really?" Mistoffelees said and considered. "That's a good sign for us. Probably scared anyone else away."

"Also means that if they spot us we're gonna have hell to pay. Come on," he started forward, his grey eyes darting around as he led the way to a large door in the warehouse. They were concealed from the main dock, which was good as several armed guards were readily apparent the nearer they were to the warehouse.

"Come here," Mistoffelees said, moving to the side of the door and leaning his ear against it. "Do you hear that?"

Coricopat leaned against the door, listening, "Yeah, I hear it. You want to put a name with the sound?"

Mistoffelees moved his hand in time to the sound a moment longer, as if double checking. "That's a press. Damn it, that's a printing press. He's printing bonds in there right now, you can hear him!"

"How long til he's done do you think?" Coricopat asked, already pulling his phone out.

"Multi-color print as complicated as the Goya," he said, more to himself and ticking things off his fingers. "Test proofs, ink formulation, perfection registration..." He looked back up at Coricopat. "He'll be running it for days."

"Good." He dialed the phone, calling directly to Bombalurina and requesting recording equipment. After telling her they were on their way back, he hung up, "Well, we've got what we can here for now. We'd better get back."

"What, really?" he asked. "We can't do anything else?"

"Not legally, no. Not enough for a warrant here." Mistoffelees swore, heading for the car.

They got back to the offices in a surprisingly short amount of time, Coricopat calling his team to the conference room. Bombalurina entered. "We got some agents on recording the sound, but it's not going to do us that much good."

"No. We know he's our guy, but there's not a damn thing we can do about it," Coricopat snapped, starting to pace in front of the windows.

"But you agree with me that it's him?" Mistoffelees asked from where he was sitting.

The lead agent nodded, "I do agree with you on that point. We just can't touch him."

"We know the bonds are there, just open the door."

"There's this little thing called Warrant Law," Coricopat answered, sliding a book containing the laws across to Mistoffelees. "All I've got is a sound coming out of a warehouse and no way to link him to the bond. Read up on it." He leaned against the conference table, "I've got to talk to your friend."

"My who?" he asked, looking from the thick book back to Coricopat. "And are you giving me homework now?"

"The guy who tipped you off about that warehouse. And no, but I suggest you do read it, it'll clear up the warrant bit."

"I don't think I can bring my contact into the FBI," Mistoffelees replied, meeting his eyes.

"Then set up a meeting with him," came the testy response.

"He's skittish," Mistoffelees replied. "Beyond that, actually."

"Look, I have to know how he connected Hagen and that warehouse. I need you to trust me on this."

"I might consider trusting you, he won't," Mistoffelees replied, shoulders getting tenser by the minute. "I can ask him if you like."

Coricopat nodded, "I need you to do that." He paused, "please."

"I'll ask him," Mistoffelees promised after a moment.

"Thank you. Alright, folks, not much more we can do until we hear something worthwhile on that listening equipment. We're just about at the end of the work day, pack it in and call it a night."

Mistoffelees considered him a long moment before standing and taking the book, hesitating as to whether he should say what he was thinking or not. Coricopat glanced at him, "I'll give you a ride home. Something on your mind?"

"That guy, that got me the information?" Mistoffelees said softly, holding the book to his chest. "He's the only friend I still have. I'm not going to let you hurt him. If that means keeping him from you, I will."

"I," he nodded after a moment, "I understand."

"Good," Mistoffelees said with a small nod, and heading quickly toward the elevator.

Coricopat shook his head slightly, but followed the smaller man. Not utilizing that contact except through Mistoffelees was going to be a bit of a pain, but it could be doable.

w-w-w-w

That night, Mistoffelees lay sprawled out over a couch downstairs, looking through the warrant law book. He was mostly flipping through it listlessly and skimming pages rather than study it. Turning another page he paused, flicking back to the former page and reading it over three times to make sure he understood it. Dropping the book on the couch cushion, he rose, grabbing Jenny's keys on his way.

w-w-w-w

Several blocks away, Coricopat picked up his phone on the second ring, "Zimmerman...He  _what_? Yeah, I'm on my way." He hung up, immediately calling Mac as he yanked on his shoes and coat.

"Whatta?" Macavity asked into the phone, having fumbled it off the bedside table and having to pick it up to answer. "What  _time_  is it?"

"No idea. I just got a call from the Marshalls. Mistoffelees is running. Get dressed and meet me at the offices," Coricopat rattled off, on his way out the door.

"He's  _what_?" Macavity yelped, stumbling out of bed and falling over before jumping back up, shaking the sleep out of his head.

Griddlebone blinked herself away at that, "Mac?"

"You heard me," Coricopat replied. "I'm calling Bomba and rousing a team. I'll see you shortly."

"Is he still wearing the anklet?" Mac asked, glancing back at his wife and holding up a hand.

"Yeah, it's still transmitting."

"So we'll be able to find him with that, right?"

"Yeah, should be," Coricopat agreed.

"Alright, I'll see you at the office. I figure we'll be heading out from there or should I meet you somewhere else?"

"We'll be leaving from there," came the clipped response.

"See you then," Macavity said, hanging up and going quickly for a shirt, buttoning it up and turning back to his wife. "Sorry, hon."

"What's happened, Mac?" She sat up, reaching for the lamp at the bedside.

"Caffrey ran," he said, pulling on a tie and pulling it into a knot before searching out a pair of pants. "But he still has his anklet on."

"Someone as smart as you say he is didn't' cut the anklet first?"

"I think there's something else going on," he said, leaning over and kissing her, getting distracted for a moment by what he meant to be a quick kiss. "I'll call you once this gets sorted, alright?"

"Alright. You better. Should I wait up?"

"Go back to sleep," Mac said, smoothing her hair back. "It should take a while to get the team together and moving."

"Alright, love." She offered him a smile, "Call me when you're on your way home."

"I will," he promised, kissing her again before darting from the room, grabbing his suit jacket on the way.

Grids watched him go and picked up her book from the bedside table, settling in to read for a while.

w-w-w-w

Mistoffelees got out of Jenny's car, a camera in hand and started snapping pictures of the warehouse in the pre-dawn light. He was angling the camera like a professional photographer, even though he was pretending to be an amateur.

One of the look outs spotted him, "Hey!" Three of them started toward him quickly.

"Hey there," he said, offering them a charming grin and snapping a shot of them with the building behind them. "Lovely morning, innit?"

"What are you doing?" You can't be here!"

"Oh, I'm taking a class over at the Annex," he said, still smiling cheerfully. "And pictures of rusty sheet metal are a sure A, you know?"

Two of the look outs grabbed him, the one who was apparently in charge, nodding to the warehouse, "Take him in."

Mistoffelees protested, but allowed himself to be dragged inside the warehouse. His eyes widened and he tried not to grin as he was dragged past stacks of the Spanish children's book that workers were cutting the top sheet out of, the press clearly running Goya forgeries.

The look outs shoved him into an opulent glass office in the middle of the floor and before they could follow he slammed the door in their faces, locking it quickly against them.

Hagen approached moments later, "What is going on here?"

Mistoffelees waved at him from inside his office. "Hello again."

"Why'd you bring him inside?" he whirled on the look outs.

"He was taking pictures of the place," one of the look outs replied.

"Open the door!" the lawyer who killed the book dealer demanded, brandishing a gun.

Mistoffelees just shook his head. "This sounds like inch-thick Lexan. So... no."

"Go get the keys," Hagen snapped at the man.

Mistoffelees moved around the office. "Nice place here. You shouldn't have signed the bonds, by the way. Not that I'm a stranger to vanity myself, so I understand the impulse, but it's still stupid as all hell."

"I swear I'm gonna kill you when we get the door open. I hope whatever they're giving you is worth it."

"It is," he replied simply as sirens could suddenly be heard.

Hagen startled at that sound, whirling and then shooting Mistoffelees a long look. Mistoffelees pulled up his suit leg, showing off the tracker that was flashing red. The art forger gaped at him, 'You are a particular kind of bastard!" He whirled to the men working the presses, "Pack it in! Grab the bond and let's go! Everybody, now! Move it along!"

Just then the doors opened. "We have a fugitive hiding in this building," Macavity was saying. "Let's get inside."

Guns were quickly trained on the forgers and printers who raised their hands as Coricopat strode through, "This is what the law calls an exigent circumstance. Anyone want to explain what that means to Mr. Hagen here?"

"Exigent circumstances allow us to pursue a suspect onto private property without obtaining a warrant first," Bombalurina replied as Macavity picked up one of the freshly inked forgeries.

"And to seize any and all evidence that is discovered in plain view, regardless of connection to the original crime," Coricopat smirked at Hagen, "Remember me? Friend?" His gaze moved to the 'lawyer' from the airport, "And hey, you have your lawyer with you."

Bomba put the lawyer in handcuff as another agent took Hagen and started dragging them both away, Macavity running the seizing of the boxes.

Unlocking the office door, Mistoffelees offered Coricopat a grin. Coricopat entered the office, returning the grin, "You know, you're really bad at this whole escaping thing."

"What can I say?" Mistoffelees said, gesturing back to the open safe at the back of the office.

"Is that the original victory bond over there?" the FBI agent asked.

"Why yes, yes it is."

That earned a bit of a laugh as he moved to lean against the desk, 'You know this technically makes me three and oh."

"I'm not really trying..." Mistoffelees protested. "Besides, you tricked me the first time."

"Still caught you."

He gave the FBI agent a long look, legs swinging from where he was sitting on the edge of Hagen's desk. "You know, you said you'd tell me something if we caught him in a week."

"Did I?"

"Yes," Mistoffelees said, giving him a long look.

"I'll tell you when I drive you home. No need for my team to be hearing it too."

"Fair enough," he shrugged and paused. "Does this mean I won't go back?"

"I'll call the Marshalls, talk to Vlask. You did good today, gave us a reason for search and seizure, and I was the one who made the mistake of telling you to read up on warrant law. Don't pull this stunt again and I think I can keep you on the outside."

Mistoffelees grinned softly. "Well, I meant, when I got out you said that it was probation, and if I helped with this you'd see about making it permanent."

"And you've proved yourself useful and creative. It'll probably stay probationary for a while, but you're good for now."

The shorter man grinned, smile relieved. "Okay."

"Gotta admit, crazy stunt, but it worked," Coricopat said with a small shake of his head.

"It did work," Mistoffelees nodded. "Though I will add your timing is sorta impeccable. Another few minutes and the crazy stunt would have got me shot."

"I have very little doubt of that. You maybe want to try not to do that again?"

"I'll endeavor to avoid it," Mistoffelees smirked.

"Good." He straightened, "Come on, we have a few things to deal with and some paperwork, and I have some calls before we can head back."

Mistoffelees made a face. "Paperwork. Ugh. Never had to do that on the other side of the law."

"Well, meet the drudgery that is our duty. Must leave papertrails or we look less than legal," the agent offered, moving to the door. Mistoffelees remained where he was a long moment before finally following.

w-w-w-w

Several hours later, Coricopat finally emerged from his office, "You ready to head out?"

Mistoffelees looked up from where he was just about asleep on a file. "Huh? Wha? Oh, yeah."

"Well, let's get you home then."

Shaking his head to try and get the sleep out of it, Mistoffelees rose. "Did Macavity ever figure out what to get his wife?"

"He's got a week off, and I think he has tickets tot eh Caribbean. Second honeymoon or something like that."

Mistoffelees grinned. "Good boy."

That earned a quiet laugh, "Yeah. So, what was it I was telling you again?"

"Whatever was up with you at the church," Mistoffelees said, putting his hands behind his head as he walked. "Which they're gonna have to find a new restorer for."

"I'm sure they'll find someone. Church like that probably has enough in its coffers." He fell silent until they reached the car, "I'm not middle class...or wasn't always. I was raised a couple rungs up the social ladder from that. Good catholic family."

That almost stopped the other in his tracks. "Catholic? You looked like you were going to have a heart attack walking into that church, I don't believe you!"

"Catholic. I haven't set foot in a catholic church since I graduated high school. By that time I was only going for Christmas and Easter mass. I was fifteen when I stopped going every Sunday, and then only because I got a job and begged my boss to schedule me over every possible mass my parents could drag me to."

"Why?" Mistoffelees asked, leaning against the wall and waiting for the elevator.

"Why go hear about something you don't believe?"

"Why'd you stop then?" Mistoffelees asked as the door dinged open.

Coricopat shrugged, stepping inside, "I don't know if there's really one single reason I can answer that with."

The shorter man pouted at him. "So how'd a rich kid end up an FBI agent then?"

"It's what I wanted to do. I like the idea of helping people, doing what needs to be done." He shrugged, "Even if it did cost me contact with my parents."

Even though they were standing still Mistoffelees froze entirely, body tensing. "... You're not in contact with your parents?"

Coricopat shook his head, "My father disowned me when I went into law enforcement, though I'm sure he could have found another reason if he wanted to."

"That is the most moronic reason for disownment I've ever heard," Mistoffelees said, voice lowering in anger.

"It is what it is. Could be worse."

"How?" Mistoffelees snapped.

"He could have disowned me like he did my sister. She took a female lover and got the boot."

The shorter man tried not to react to that. "And you're on the straight and narrow path and that still got you disowned?"

"I'm in law enforcement, and I might have lied to him about it until I actually got into Quantico."

"Way to piss off the rich parents," Mistoffelees muttered as they reached the ground floor.

"Oh I'd been doing that for a while, but there were a couple things that led to it in the end, I suppose."

"Am I getting those things or are you being mysterious again?" Mistoffelees asked, walking out of the building toward the car.

"I had a boyfriend in college. Didn't end well, but it is what it is," Coricopat answered simply, following Mistoffelees.

The shorter man came to almost a full stop again. "So you and your sister, huh?" he asked, trying to keep his voice even.

The agent's jaw tightened at that, "Yes. What of it?"

"Not what I expected," he said, picking at his sleeve. "From a Catholic family no less."

Coricopat shrugged, "And now you know why I stopped attending."

"Apparently," he said, slipping into the car. "So, here's the thing-I know Bomba has someone, and Mac's married, but I haven't ever heard about you."

"And here I thought you knew as much about my private life as I do about yours."

Mistoffelees snorted. "I knew you were single as long as I've been paying attention. Wondering why."

"Haven't met someone I'd be willing to ask to deal with the stress of dating someone in law enforcement."

That got an arched brow. "That's a crappy reason."

"I happen to think it's a pretty decent one," the FBI agent returned.

"How?" Mistoffelees actually turned in his seat to look at him. "If you care about someone, damn the risks and dangers. It's about being with them or whatever time you have. Stress? Why would that matter?"

"I haven't met anyone I care about enough to work through the problems that arise from it either."

Swallowing, Mistoffelees hunched back in his seat and crossed his arms. "Sorry... I was projecting."

Coricopat sighed, shaking his head, "No...it's...it's fine. I just have watched relationship after relationship around me fall to pieces due to different aspects, several related to hazards of the job."

"Macavity's hasn't," Mistoffelees pointed out, still staring straight ahead. "So you have one good example at least."

"Two. Bomba's been in a relationship for a while too."

"There you go," Mistoffelees shrugged. "Probably just not looking hard enough."

"Perhaps. And when I have the time I'll consider looking. For now, I'll settle with what I have."

"Talk like that and you'll never find the time," Mistoffelees said under his breath, rolling his eyes.

Coricopat shrugged, "Then I won't find the time."

Mistoffelees paused, biting his lip before finally asking, "Aren't you lonely?"

"I'm too busy to be lonely," came the quiet response.

"No one's too busy to be lonely," Mistoffelees said, shaking his head. "And if they say that they're lying."

Coricopat's jaw tensed, "Then allow me the lie."

"Yeah, well," he said, mouth twisting. "Your lover didn't leave you when you couldn't follow."

"No. He didn't. Perhaps yours will come back."

"He won't," Mistoffelees said quietly, looking out the window. "Not after leaving like that."

Coricopat sighed, "I'm sorry."

"For?" Mistoffelees said, still not looking at him.

"That loss. It's easier to bear loneliness when you haven't recently known what it was to have someone waiting for you."

The shorter man didn't reply, looking down and fiddling with his cuff again. He didn't say it had been a very long time since he'd had the chance to go home to Pounce, and that it had been a lot of missed dates over four years and he couldn't really have expected the other to still be waiting for him anyway.

Coricopat allowed the silence to lengthen, not saying anything further until he pulled the car to a stop in front of Jenny's house, "Are you going to be alright tonight?"

"Why wouldn't I be?" he asked, finally looking up.

The taller shrugged, "It's a concern. I was just checking."

"Yeah, well," he shrugged. "Nothing's changed. Tomorrow, same time?"

"Same time. I'll see you then." Nodding, Mistoffelees slipped from the car, shoving his hands in his pocket and moving over to Jenny's.


	6. And I Didn't Trust Either of You

Several weeks later and several boring mortgage frauds later, Mistoffelees leaned on his balcony at Jenny's, looking over the city. Jerrie knocked on the doorframe from Misto's apartment onto the balcony, "Hey you."

"Hey you," Mistoffelees said, glancing back at him back to the city. "I forgot how... glittery the city was at night. It amazes me all over again."

"Looks like all those jewels people think are a good idea to try and fence."

That got a laugh from Mistoffelees. "I'm surprised more people don't try to steal the city, but I'm sure it's not worth that much," he said. "And god knows we've tried stealing our share of those glittery jewels."

"Yeah, but that never went as well as some of the other things," Jerrie answered. "Jewels are nice, but can be a pain in the ass sometimes."

"No kidding," Mistoffelees said, finally turning away from the city and leaning against the railing, looking the red head over. "So, any luck on figuring out how to get this anklet off?"

"I'm working on it. You're lucky though that they gave you a two mile tether. That's a lot in New York. Remember Jimmy Dimaco? The feds had his anklet set at twenty-two  _feet_. He had to take a shower with one foot out of the tub." Mistoffelees gave him a long, disbelieving look. "Alright, maybe it was thirty feet. But either way you have it better."

"Two miles isn't enough," Mistoffelees said, bracing himself against the railing and his grip tightening. "I need to find Pounce. The man with the ring was with him in California. You tell me what he wants from Pounce, because he didn't find what he was looking for in San Diego."

"How do you know what he was looking for?"

"Because..." Mistoffelees paused and sighed, running a hand through his black hair. "Because I told Pounce I kept everything-the money, the bonds, the art, all of it-in San Diego."

"Well, clearly that's not the truth, because you told me it was all hidden in Portland, isn't it? Isn't it? Oh. There's nothing hidden in either place, is there?" Jerrie frowned, "It's a test. You told him San Diego, you told me Portland, then whichever rock gets overturned, you know who betrayed you."

Biting his lip, Mistoffelees shrugged a bit, feeling guilty. "I needed to know," he said softly.

"Know what? That you can trust me?" Jerrie's expression was somewhere between indignant and hurt.

"You know I'm not good with trust," Mistoffelees replied, hunching his shoulders slightly.

"I...I know, but...After all I've been through with you?"

"I'm sorry," he said, dropping his eyes. "And maybe you're right. In the last five years it wasn't you that checked the location out."

"Why would I? You were getting out and it's your stuff."

"I told you about Portland before I got into prison," Mistoffelees said. "Four years was a long time, okay?"

"Yeah, but still. I'm not the one who kicked over the rock, in any case," Jerrie said, still looking hurt.

The shorter man looked down. "He didn't betray me. That man, who has him, he forced him to."

"Then why didn't he warn you about it when he came to say good-bye to you in prison?"

"That's the thing? What if he did and I was too stupid to see it?"

"Misto...You're the smartest guy I know. You really think that's likely?"

"Smart or not I was a little distracted at the time," Mistoffelees said, eyes darkening. "When he told me goodbye I shut down. I mean, when the FBI was starting to close in, we'd pass codes and stuff to each other. Folded letters, stuff like that..."

"So you think he left you a code when he went to visit you?"

"He might have," Mistoffelees said, swallowing. "I really hope he did."

"Then you need the security tape, right?"

"Yeah," Mistoffelees said softly. "Any suggestion on getting it?"

"Well, you're working with the FBI now, can't you ask them if you can see it?" Jerrie offered.

"Yeah, that will go swimmingly. Hey, you there, who's told me eight times a day the last three weeks not to look for Pounce, can I see the tape of our last meeting?" Mistoffelees sighed. "What should I do, pull really big eyes on him and beg?"

"It's worth a try," Jerrie shrugged. "Worst he can say is 'no', right?"

"Suppose so," Mistoffelees murmured, looking back over the lights of New York.

"So, you going to stare over the city for the rest of the night then?"

"And if I do?" Mistoffelees asked, flashing him a grin even though his eyes looked defeated still.

"I might have to call Jenny in to drag you out on the town instead."

Mistoffelees rolled his eyes. "I can't wallow?" he protested.

"You've been wallowing a lot. Time to take a break from it."

"But Mistoffelees started again.

"But one night of not wallowing isn't the end of the world."

Mistoffelees sighed. "So, Jenny then. A night out. You really think this is a good plan?"

"You really think it's not?"

The shorter man sighed before going to the door and hoping down the stairs. "Jenny! You wanna go dancing?"

Her voice drifted up, "I've nothing else to do this evening, if you're up to doing so."

Reaching the bottom of the stairs, Mistoffelees entered her office. "Great. Jerrie has declared I can't wallow tonight."

She offered him a bit of a smile at that, "Good for him. A night of dancing, I do think you can handle."

w-w-w-w

The next day, Mistoffelees entered the office with his shoulders tight. Looking around, he nodded at several people, reaching his own desk-one of these days he'd believe he had his own desk at the FBI-and flipping through files aimlessly until he could think of some way of broaching the tape to Coricopat. Coricopat came down the stairs from his office, skimming a file, and made his way over to Mistoffelees' desk, "Morning."

"Morning," Mistoffelees said, glancing up and pausing. "Any... interesting cases today?"

Coricopat shook his head, "Nothing of real note. A couple of small things, but nothing that really needs any massive hauling out of the forces."

"Oh, well, that's good right?"

"It is. One, or several, fewer crises to deal with is always a good thing."

Mistoffelees fiddled with his cuff for a moment before looking up. "You know how you've told me not to go looking for Pounce?"

"I remember having that conversation several times, yes."

"I have a favor to ask," Mistoffelees followed up.

The agent eyed him, "What is that?"

"I want to see the tape," he started and swallowed. "Of the last time Pounce came to visit me."

"Are you sure that's a good idea?"

"I just want the closure," Mistoffelees said, "And I'm hoping it would help."

Coricopat looked skeptical, "And you don't think it will induce you to go looking for him?"

"It can't make me miss him more than I already do," Mistoffelees said, voice dropping again and his eyes widening ever so slightly as he tilted forward half an inch.

"I...still think this is a bad idea." Why didn't he just say no and be done with it?

"It's just," Mistoffelees dropped his eyes and bit his lip. "I miss him is all. It'd be nice to see his face again. I promise I won't go running after him."

Coricopat hesitated for a moment at that and finally sighed, "I'll see if I can get a copy."

"Thank you," Mistoffelees said, bringing his eyes back up again.

Across the office, Bombalurina blinked. "Did the boss just get entirely played?"

"Probably," Macavity said, with a bit more of a tan than usual from his vacation with his wife but not bothering to look up from his paperwork.

The lead agent's grey eyes scoped over Mistoffelees' features, "I find you're looking for him, though and I'll shorten that radius your anklet allows, got it?"

"Got it," Mistoffelees replied. "I like being able to actually go to the park, you know."

"I'm sure you do. So keep it in mind."

"Yes, sir," Mistoffelees muttered, offering him a rakish smile at the same time.

Coricopat shook his head, "It appears I have a phone call to make..."

"Thank you," Mistoffelees added.

"Of course." He turned on his heel and headed for his office, the door closing firmly behind him.

"I refuse to comment," Macavity said with Bomba gave him a long look.

w-w-w-w

Several nights later, Mistoffelees entered his apartment to already find Jerrie there. He brandished the tape. "Got it."

"I'm impressed. How'd you do that?" The redhead asked, barely looking up from the book he had his nose buried in.

"Big eyes and flirting," Mistoffelees replied, pushing Jerrie over to sit. "How I do everything."

"So asking him worked then."

"Yeah," Mistoffelees said, leaning back. "Apparently flirting with the guy that put me in prison works. I should keep that in mind."

"I don't think it'll work for everything. Yu think he knew you were flirting?"

"Am I known for being subtle?" Mistoffelees asked, glancing over at him. "Besides, he's had boyfriends before."

Jerrie arched a brow in surprise at that, "We're talking about the suit I think we're talking about?"

"Yeah, we are," Mistoffelees said, pulling his knees up to his chest and wrinkling his suit slightly-but it was a move from his childhood and he couldn't ever let it go.

"Can't see him with someone, honestly."

"Yeah, well," Mistoffelees snorted. "He's too busy to have anyone and wouldn't want to put them under stress anyway." He rolled his eyes, expressing what he thought of that.

Jerie burst out laughing at that, "Wow. Stress? That's his excuse?"

"Yeah," Mistoffelees said, shaking his head. "Something about not wanting to put someone under the stress of dating someone in law enforcement. It is sorta the shittiest excuse on the book I've heard to date."

"Are you upset by that excuse?"

"What?" Mistoffelees turned his head to blink at him.

"You seem rather derisive about the excuse. If he wants to make himself lonely and miserable, what's it to you?"

"I'm lonely and miserable because someone left me, he is through choice and it pisses me off that he's not even taking a chance I currently don't have," Mistoffelees snapped.

Jerrie offered a half shrug, "You can't fix stupid. And that's what he's being."

"Doesn't mean I don't resent it," Mistoffelees mumbled. "Shall we watch this or not then?"

"Your tape, your video player, your tv. Feel free to put it in."

Rising, Mistoffelees looked down at the tape a long moment before finally putting it in. "So long as you help me here," he said, returning to the couch.

"I'll do what I can, after all don't I always?" Jerrie glanced at his friend. Mistoffelees offered him a strained smile before turning to the tape.

They watched it for a few minutes, Jerrie finally speaking, "Did he always style his hair like that?"

Yes," Mistoffelees said. "Or the last several times he came to see me. It's the same basic cut he always has-had."

"Oh. Okay, well, you seeing anything?"

"His scarf just formed the letter M," Mistoffelees replied and stopped. "I don't think that helped."

"Thirteenth letter of the alphabet. It's a prime number, considered by western cultures as unlucky. I don't know that it helped, no," Jerrie leaned back against the couch with a shrug.

"Thank you, rain man," Mistoffelees mumbled.

"Hey, do you want my help or not?"

"I do but Mistoffelees froze, standing as he noticed it. He rewound the tape quickly. "There, his hand," he said, pointing to the tape at the point that Pounce stood.

Jerrie leaned in, "Morse code. B-O-double T-L-E..."

"Bottle," Mistoffelees finished, moving over to pick up the bottle Pounce had left for him, turning it in his hands.

"Seriously? We're back to the bottle? We've been over that thing, I thought."

"Apparently not well enough," Mistoffelees replied.

"Misto...Really? You really think he left you a 'message in a bottle'? Seems...kinda cliché."

"Or one of those classics you think no one does anymore because they're obvious?" Mistoffelees offered.

"It's a plain glass bottle with plain paper label, and probably a couple drops of cheap wine inside. Misto, it's no message."

"And if it is?" Mistoffelees asked. "Damnit, Morse code, only think left in the apartment, there has to be something else. It's too elaborate of a set up for there not to be."

"Or it's an elaborate set-up to make you think it is while he figures out where you have the stuff stashed."

Mistoffelees gave him a long sideways look. "You never did like Pounce, did you?"

"I didn't trust him. There's a difference."

"And I didn't trust either of you," Mistoffelees said, looking at the bottle again and titling his head enough that his hair hid his eyes.

Jerrie sighed, "Maybe it is a message, but how are we supposed to find it?"

"I don't know yet," he sighed.

"Well, you think of anything, let me know. I'll help as much as I can, you know that."

"Thanks," Mistoffelees said softly and offered the red head a smile.

"What are friends for?"

"Probably not this," Mistoffelees said, smile finally becoming slightly more relaxed.

Jerrie shrugged, "Well we'll file it into the 'things friends are for' category anyhow."

"Okay," Mistoffelees said, voice soft. "We'll file it there."


	7. The Irony of the Eighth Commandment

Macavity entered the FBI van, nodding at the agents already inside and handing Bombalurina a cup of coffee. "Morning, sunshines. We got any headlines yet?"

"No," Bomba replied, accepting the coffee gratefully. "Although they keep bitching about some bible or another."

"Is it a debt ledger?" Macavity asked with a found.

"Well," Bomba leaned back, crossing her arms. "Whatever it is, it's missing and they ain't happy about it."

One of the agents suddenly tensed. "We have a situation."

"Is that Barelli? What's he doing here?" Bomba asked, leaning forward with a frown to look at the video of the mobsters meeting.

"I don't know," Mac sighed. "But I bet it's not of the good."

"That's Paul Ignazio, his nephew," one of the agents supplied.

"Turn the mic up," Macavity said, taking a long swallow of coffee.

Ignazio could be heard, his voice uncertain, "You sure about this?"

Barelli seemed at the end of his patience, "Do it!"

Macavity had time to frown before he nearly jumped out of his wobbly seat. "Damn it, he's walking over here." A knock rapped on the back of the van and for a moment the agents inside just stared at each other in shock before turning. Finally, Mac opened the door, peeking out though he already knew who was waiting outside.

Ignazio stood there, "You all are the FBI right? We need your help."

"You need our Macavity started and picked up his phone, dialing ahead to the office. "If you don't mind coming with us then?" he asked as the phone started ringing.

"We'll meet you there," he answered.

"Great," Mac nodded, switching his attention to the phone. Ignazio went back to his uncle to relay the news.

w-w-w-w

Less than an hour later found Barelli seated in Sonya Vlask's office, Coricopat Zimmerman leaning against the wall to one side, "Last week, somebody walks into my church and steals the bible."

Coricopat's brow arched skeptically, "An actual bible?"

"Yeah, you know, the flood, Abraham sacrifices Isaac. You heard of it?"

"Why do you want our help?" Sonya Vlask cut in, giving his subordinate FBI agent a long look.

"I'm a tax paying citizen."

"So file a police report," Coricopat answered as though it was the simplest thought.

"Oh come on, you got your guys sitting on me. It's part of the game, I know, but it means I'm not free to, uh, find out who did this."

Sonya took a breath, looking like he was considering scolding Coricopat again. "You mean you can't bust heads like you'd prefer. So you turn to the law."

"Awful accusatory of someone who comes askin' for help," Barelli remarked.

"Get to your point," Sonya said quickly instead.

"This bible, it's not just some book that the Gideons leave on the night stand. This- this is five centuries of history. From Naples. The  _saints_  prayed over this book." He shot Coricopat a look when the other offered a derisive snort at that.

Sonya glared at Coricopat as well, motioning him to the side. "Look, I don't care about your personal feelings for this guy, but I don't want the archdiocese crawling down our necks because we refused to recover a bible, okay?"

Coricopat bit his tongue on the combination of things that was going through his head, but nodded, "Fine. But if he's asking us then he really wants it back." He turned to the mafia boss, "All right, let's get this straight here. You may go to confession once a week, but the bureau doesn't forgive sins. We don't work for you."

Barelli looked unimpressed, "What do you want?"

"Shut down your book making operations at Masso's club."

"Masso's." Barelli shrugged, "It's a restaurant. See for yourself any time. After Thursday. Please. Please, help me fine my God damn bible."

w-w-w-w

Mistoffelees looked up as Jerrie tapped his fingers against the edge of his table. "Please stop!"

Jerrie startled slightly at that, "It's part of my process. You either taught him too well or it's just a bottle..."

"There has to be more," Mistoffelees said, shaking his head. "It's the only thing he left me."

"Look, I can take it to the lab, run some tests, if you like."

"You don't have a lab," Mistoffelees deadpanned. "You have a storage unit."

"Semantics," Jerrie answered testily.

"Thanks, Jer," Mistoffelees said, offering the other a charming smile in apology as his phone started ringing. "Hello?" he asked, flipping it open.

"We have a new case," Coricopat spoke without any preamble.

"Great, just promise me it isn't mortgage fraud," Mistoffelees replied. "Because if it is, I sorta figure you don't need to call me early."

"No. It's not. How soon can you be downstairs?"

"Um, soonish?" Mistoffelees offered. "Where we going?"

"A church. A medieval bible's been stolen. I'm pulling up out front in two minutes."

Mistoffelees tried not to crack up. "A church, eh? You must be thrilled. I'll try to be downstairs soon then."

"Oh yes, completely. I'll see you shortly," Coricopat hung up.

Mistoffelees looked the phone over as he drew it away before looking back over to Jerrie. "Duty calls."

"Alright. I'll take the bottle and bring it back to you when I'm finished. I'll wait to leave til you do, though if the suit's close."

"He's close," Mistoffelees nodded. "Still not a fan of the system?"

"The system is designed to keep people in their place. I make my own place."

"That you do," Mistoffelees agreed, going to the wardrobe for a scarf, since the day was chilly and he preferred a bit more protection from it. "Alright, I'll be back later. I'll make sure he doesn't come upstairs or anything. And..." he paused, turning to the other. "Thank you. About the bottle."

"Any time, Misto. I mean that."

"Still, it means a lot," Mistoffelees said, offering him a grin and slipping out.

Jerrie watched him go before carefully picking up the bottle and wrapping it up in some newspaper.

w-w-w-w

Getting out of the car, Mistoffelees looked the church over. "God, that's beautiful," he murmured.

Coricopat shrugged slightly, but nodded, "It is a beautiful piece of architecture."

"Did I say anything beyond that?" Mistoffelees asked, tilting his head back to look at him. "You might want to have that bitterness checked out one of these days."

"I have no idea what bitterness you could possibly mean. Now, let's go see if we can figure out what happened to a priceless bible in a parish full of thieves and cutthroats."

Mistoffelees arched a brow at him, carefully taking his hat off as they walked over the threshold of the church. Coricopat hesitated before following him inside, looking around for the priest.

Bombalurina arched a brow when they entered. "You religious or something?" she asked Mistoffelees, who just arched a brow at her.

"Are you kidding? No. But, I just because I don't believe something doesn't mean I don't have respect for it."

The red haired agent gave him a look. "That respect extend to what you steal from them?"

His eyes turned slightly cold. "I've never, allegedly, stolen from a church, remember?" he returned as the father noticed them and started walking over.

Coricopat looked around, "He's right. Never even allegedly stole from a place of worship."

"So, you only stole from those you didn't respect?" Bomba drawled, and Mistoffelees gave her a hard look.

"Thank you for coming," Father D'Allesio said, stepping up and nodding to everyone in the group. "It means a lot."

The lead agent inclined his head, "Of course, Father. It's a great loss. What can you tell us of the bible?"

"It belonged to the church of Saint Camillus De Lellis in Naples. It was brought here in 1903 and has been the heart of our parish since. Now it's gone."

"Anything unusual that night, Father?"

"Not that I recall," he said and shook his head.

"There were no alarms or witnesses, or signs of a forced entry," Bomba supplied.

Coricopt glanced at her and nodded, "Run the prints against the parish roster. Something tells me we'll get a few matches."

Barelli spoke as he approached, "Nobody from this parish stole the bible."

"Really?" The lead agent looked skeptical, "Your guys are all choir boys, right?"

"There's no surveillance cameras," Mistoffelees remarked, turning where he stood and craning his neck back.

"The Lord sees all," the mafia boss responded, "And that's good enough for us."

Coricopat rolled his eyes and turned back to the priest, "Maybe I'm getting my Saint something-or-others mixed up, but didn't you used to run a soup kitchen here?"

"Not anymore," he replied, voice soft.

"What..." Coricopat stopped, shaking his head and deciding he'd pursue that later if it became important.

"Let me know if I can help you with anything else," the priest said, before turning to go.

"Of course, Father," the lead agent murmured. "We'll do everything we can."

w-w-w-w

That night, Mistoffelees sat fiddling with a pen at the table in his apartment. "Who steals a bible?"

Jerrie shrugged from where he was stretched out on the couch, "People steal everything."

"Well, why would  _we_  steal a bible? For instance," Mistoffelees offered, tapping the pen against the table, his other hand propping up his chin.

"I dunno," the red head replied, his eyes closed, "They're rare? Or the old ones are anyhow?"

"Naw," Mistoffelees shook his head. "Makes them valuable, but not like other old stuff, not like Picasso valuable. Plus, people get weird about buying stolen religious artifacts, so they'd be hella tough to fence."

"Oh right, the irony of the eighth commandment and all that."

"Thou shall not steal," Mistoffelees murmured. "I wonder how many in our line of work are religious."

"Not many. Superstitious more often. Anyhow, I guess what you steal depends on what's important to people. Did you know that an original Star Trek dome lunchbox goes for six hundred bucks?" Jerrie opened his eyes, tilting his head back so he was looking at Misto upside down over the arm of the couch.

Mistoffelees blinked. "That actually fails to surprise me at all. Alright, different values, whatever. Why steal  _this_  bible?"

"Well, you're missing the fact it's famous. It's known as the healing bible."

"Really?" the shorter man asked, tapping his pen still.

"Yep. In 1588 the plague passed through Naples. Father Camillus carried the book into disease stricken ships in the harbor. Not a single person who touched the bible died."

"A nice story," Mistoffelees couldn't help but roll his eyes.

"Twenty years later, a blind girl regained her sight when she rescued the book from a fire. I could give you many more examples, if you like."

"I'm sure you could," the shorter man said, tossing down his pen and lounging back in his chair. "So, what if you don't want to sell the bible? What if you steal it because you're a true believer?"

Jerrie rolled onto his stomach to better look at Mistoffelees, "Hey, that's a possibility."

His friend tilted his head. "I feel like a character in a book," he told the ceiling. "True believers? Really?"

"Don't be too skeptical. It's the skeptics in the books that end up in the most trouble."

"I think I've already hit that point, don't you?" his friend returned.

"All the more reason not to make it worse. Though I doubt skepticism about a bible is the worst thing you could do," Jerrie admitted after a moment or two.

"And what would your oh so meta knowledge say is the worst thing for me to do?" Mistoffelees said, turning a smile on his friend.

"Hm...fall in love with the guy who put you in prison. But we're talking worst case scenario here. Beyond that? Breaking a mirror."

Tilting the chair back on one leg, Mistoffelees lost his balance, sending the chair over when Jerrie spoke. "Fall in  _what_?" he yelped from his undignified location.

"You asked what the worst thing you could do was. I told you."

"How did you even  _come up_  with that?"

"Worst case scenarios. Know them. Prepare for them. Live by them. It's how I keep myself under the radar."

"Still," Mistoffelees said, picking himself back up. "I want to find Pounce. I don't think I'm going to be falling in love with the guy who screwed everything up."

"I know. I'm just saying, that's the worst thing you could do."

"You couldn't think of something else?" Mistoffelees asked. The point had hit too close to home and he was doing his hardest to ignore that fact.

"Worst case, Misto. Worst case. The second worst case is...I dunno, getting shot for something? Or going out of your radius, willingly or not, and ending up back in prison."

"Okay, wait, how is ending up dead or in prison not the worst case compared to falling in love?" Mistoffelees demanded, leaning against the table.

"Because that means you're in love with two people. And one of them's the guy who put you behind bars and is now in charge of your not quite parole?"

"And that ranks above getting shot? Really?"

"Emotionally, yeah."

"I don't know, death," Mistoffelees countered, eyes shuttered close and holding his hands up as if weighing something.

Jerrie looked at him for a long moment, reluctantly conceding, "Okay, death wins."

Mistoffelees paused. "Would it really be so terrible?"

"The guy who put you in  _prison_ , Misto. And didn't you just tell me you're in love with Pounce?"

"Yeah, but," he shrugged. "God, I'm not saying I  _am_  gonna fall in love with him. Ever. Because... no. But why would it be so horrible?"

"He's a suit?" Jerrie offered. Mistoffelees just arched a brow. "Alright, so maybe that's not a good excuse, but...what do you know about him?"

"Probably more than I should? But still," he shook his head.

"Why would it be a good idea?"

"It wouldn't be, which is why I'm not," Mistoffelees said and clapped his hands. "So, true believer then?"

Jerrie nodded firmly, "True believer."

"We'll try that angle," Mistoffelees declared, not quite meeting Jerrie's eyes.

The red-head sighed, "You want me to head out?"

"Stay as long as you like," Mistoffelees replied, pushing his legs off the couch and taking the remote. "But we're not watching one of your cult films tonight."

Jerrie finally sat up, "Aw, but they're classics!"

"Cult classics are not classics," Mistoffelees said. "At least not ones I care for and it is my TV."

"Film snob," his friend muttered. Mistoffelees just laughed, settling back against the couch and trying not to think about falling in love. With anyone.

w-w-w-w

The next morning, Mistoffelees blinked blearily at his clock from where he was curled up under his expansive comforter, still closer to asleep then awake. Until his eyes focused enough on the time to realize that he should have been up probably forty five minutes ago, and he couldn't figure out if he'd turned the alarm off in his sleep or simply forgotten to turn it on it the first place.

"Shit," he muttered.

A rapid knock came at the door to the apartment at that moment, startling Jerrie awake. The redhead cursed as he tried to sit up too fast and ended up getting himself tangled in the blanket he'd had draped over him on the couch.

Mistoffelees gave serious thought to just burrowing further under his covers, instead opting to clamber out of bed and stumble to the door, pulling it open in only the sleeping pants he wore. "I over slept," he informed Coricopat.

The agent blinked at him, drawing his eyes up to focus on Mistoffelees' eyes, "So I see. Better hurry and get in the shower, it's best not to keep certain people waiting."

Jerrie froze where he was still untangling himself on the couch at the sound of the second voice.

"I know I know," he muttered, retreating to the small bathroom, walking right past Jerrie.

His friend half reached for him, but stilled as Coricopat stepped inside. He offered the other man a sheepish grin, "Hey."

The brunet looked at him for a long moment, "And you are?"

"A friend of Jenny's?" he tried.

That garnered a singularly unimpressed look, "You have a name?"

"Umm...Yes? Everyone has a name."

"And yours is?" Coricopat asked, tilting a brow.

A name, a name, any name, "Havisham! Dante Havisham."

"You live around here?" the FBI agent asked, looking him over again and taking in details that probably wouldn't make Jerrie happy.

"Just moved in, yeah," the red head mumbled.

The water went off in the bathroom almost as abruptly as it went on, a wet haired Mistoffelees moving quickly from the bathroom to the closet.

"So you're a friend of Jenny's but ended up on Mistoffelees' couch?" Coricopat pressed.

"I...we ended up watching a couple movies, y'know, get to know the neighbors. It got late, figured it was better to stay the night."

"No other guest rooms?"

"Didn't want to wake Jenny. She...she'd gone to bed a while before."

In the closet, Mistoffelees was trying his hardest not to either crack up or have a panic attack. "We're not lovers, if that's what you're thinking," he called out, pulling on a pair of pants.

"I didn't think you'd relegate your lover to the couch," Coricopat called in response. His grey eyes were fixed on Jerrie who shifted under the scrutiny.

"You wouldn't know," Mistoffelees snorted. "Maybe I just like the bed to myself."

"You're too tactile for that," came the reply.

Mistoffelees poked his head around the corner of his wardrobe. "Okay, that's sorta a disturbing comment from you," he said with a small frown.

Coricopat shrugged, "Well it's rather plain to see. You're too touch oriented to kick your lover out of your bed."

"Maybe he pissed me off," Mistoffelees muttered, unsure why he was pursuing that, or resisting the idea Coricopat was right. He ducked back into the closet to pull on a black turtleneck, dispensing with a suit for the sake of speed before trying to tame his thick hair down. Today was definitely going to be a hat day.

Jerrie gave Coricopat a long look. The agent glanced at him, "What? Don't give me that look, I know I've been handed lies since I walked in and him telling me you weren't lovers is so far the only honest thing I've heard."

Mistoffelees let his head rest against the wall a moment, still unsure whether he was going to laugh or crawl back into bed.

Jerrie's eyes widened at that, "I...should probably get going."

"Yes, I think you probably should," Coricopat returned.

The red-head paused, "Mistoffelees, call me, we'll talk later, kay?" Or rather he'd be by later.

"Yes," Mistoffelees replied, walking from the closet, hat firmly in place and masks up. "This evening then?"

Jerrie nodded, "Yeah this evening." With that he grabbed his coat and hurried out.

Mistoffelees watched him go a long moment before tilting his head back to look at Coricopat. "I'm not sure I approve of you being able to just burst into my apartment." It reminded him too much of prison and lack of privacy.

"You didn't close the door the whole way, I figured it was alright to step inside rather than wait in the hall. My mistake."

The shorter man considered him a long moment before giving a small, curt nod. "I'll be clearer in the future," he said under his breath, pulling the door open. "So, any thoughts on that bible yet?"

"Not really. I mean, it's not something one usually sees sold." Coricopat stepped out ahead of Mistoffelees, heading down the stairs, "It's not easy to sell, so why one would steal it I can't imagine."

"Did you do any digging into the history of the bible?" Mistoffelees asked, trailing after him.

"Some, but we've been busily tracking down background on the parish members first."

"Well, historically it's supposed to be a healing bible," Mistoffelees explained. "For example, the 1918 Spanish Influenza swept through New York, killing thirty thousand. No one in the parish even caught a cold."

Coricopat considered that, "Well, then it's possible that whoever took it acutally thinks it's going to heal them?"

"A true believer," Mistoffelees agreed. "It's worth looking into."

"Nobody in the church caught the flu?" The agent looked skeptical as he got into his car.

"Apparently not," Mistoffelees shrugged, sliding inside.

Coricopat started the car, heading it toward the church, "WHy them and not the one down the block? Because of a book?"

"Aren't you Catholic?" Mistoffelees returned.

"Lapsed, remember?" The reply was sharp, testy.

"So you don't think some higher power saved the congregation?"

"I'm more inclined to think they kept their doors shut and loaded up on vitamin C."

"Maybe god works with what he's got," Mistoffelees said with a teasing grin.

Coricopat rolled his eyes, "And God said shut thine door and eat thine oranges?"

"Sure, why not?" Mistoffelees shrugged, holding his hands up.

"Look, when they dug up King Tut, everyone made such a big deal out of the curse of the pharaoh."

"Yeah, because two dozen people who entered the tomb ended up as dead as the mummy," Mistoffelees pointed out.

"Which means they probably caught some old bacterial infection." He pulled to a stop outside the church, "Germs. There's your divine intervention."

"God can't use bacteria?" Mistoffelees asked, looking like he was barely containing laughter.

"I prefer my miracles with a little more smiting and lightning," the agent returned.

"You definitely come from the Catholic tradition..." the shorter man informed him.

"Mhm, shall we go speak to the priest?"

"But screwing with you by playing devil's advocate is so fun," Mistoffelees replied with a grin, doffing his hat as they entered the church. Coricopat rolled his eyes, before looking around for the priest.

The shorter man's grin slipped slightly but returned full force when the priest approached. "Can I help you?" Father D'Allesio asked, voice soft and kindly.

The agent offered him a faint smile, "I hope so, Father. We wanted to check one thing. You didn't tell us your bible was known as a healing bible."

"I didn't realize the information would be relevant."

"Well, it might not be, but we're running down any possibility at the moment. Was there anybody in your church who was a true believer of the healing power?"

"Someone who's ill, or might have a family member or loved one?" Mistoffelees expanded.

"I was afraid this might happen," the priest sighed.

"What?" Coricopat asked warily.

"Mr. Barelli... he... he's discouraged the poor from the church," the father said slowly.

Coricopat eyed the priest, "He made you shut down the soup kitchen, I assume? How Christian of him."

The priest gave him a long look but shook his head slightly rather than argue the point. "The night of the theft, I let a homeless man sleep in the church. His name is Steve."

"Is he sick?" Mistoffelees asked, running a restless hand through his hair.

"No, but someone very close to him is," Father D'Allesio replied.

"Do you know where we can find him?" Coricopat asked, not rescinding his previous statement. The priest nodded.


	8. How Serendipitous

They got directions from the priest and made their way to a park where they found a man and an old black lab. Coricopat spoke quietly, his entire demeanor a good deal softer than it was in the church, "Steve? Hi, my name's Cori. This is my friend Mistoffelees."

The man looked up, still scratching the dog's ears, "Hi."

"Do you mind if we ask you some questions?" When the man shook his head the agent continued, "The church you stayed in last week, they're missing a bible. You know anything about it?"

Steve nodded, "Yeah, I took it."

Mistoffelees blinked from the man, his dog, and up to the FBI agent and back to the dog. He sat down on the bench on the other side from Steve, lightly patting the dog. "Can we have it back?" he asked softly.

"I don't have it," the man answered, looking a bit lost at that.

"Where is it?" Mistoffelees asked, shooting Coricopat a look.

"I took it from the church like he asked me to. Now he said that he would show me how to help Lucy get better. Then he took it from me. Now he hasn't brought it back." He looked up at Coricopat, "Do you know where he is?"

The FBI agent sighed, "No, I wish I did."

"Who asked you to take the bible from the church," Mistoffelees said, still petting the dog's ears.

Steve shook his head, turning his attention back to the dog, "Look, he said he would help Lucy get better. She's not getting better, okay? She's getting worse."

"What's wrong with her?" the short man asked, tilting his head.

"She's tired all the time. She don't eat nothing. Now, if I could get that bible back, she'll get better."

Coricopat bit his lip, speaking again, "The man who asked you to take the bible. Did you meet him at the church?"

"Yeah."

Hesitating for another moment, the agent came to a decision, "Steve, if we showed you some pictures, do you think you could recognize him?"

"I...I can try. We just need to get the bible back, okay? 'Cause she's fading, all right?" Steve said, looking up at them hopefully.

"We'll do everything we can," Mistoffelees assured.

"She can come with us, right?" Steve asked quietly.

"Yeah," Mistoffelees nodded, not even looking at Coricopat to get his permission.

"If you'll come with us, we have a car just a little ways away," Coricopat murmured.

Rising, Mistoffelees flashed Coricopat a smile for not contradicting him. Steve rose, Lucy following him obediently as they headed back to Coricopat's car.

w-w-w-w

Several hours later, Bombalurina sighed, fluffing her hair absently with one hand as she watched Steve. "You okay to keep going?" she asked, referencing the books of photos in front of him.

The man looked up at her tiredly, "There's more of 'em?"

She took a breath, noticing Mistoffelees and Coricopat walk in. "I'm going to be right back," she said, retreating.

Coricopat was fiddling with the coffee pot as he spoke to Mistoffelees, "Your hunch was a good one. Hope it takes us somewhere."

"Oh ye of little faith," Mistoffelees said with a grin as Bomba reached forward, snatching the coffee pot from Coricopat.

"You've been saving that one," he remarked, turning to Bombalurina. "That bad?"

"That bad was a couple hours ago," she replied.

"Be nice," Mistoffelees murmured and she shot him a murderous glare.

"I'll go see what I can do. Don't kill him while I'm gone, got it?" Coricopat ordered.

"Are we going somewhere?" Mistoffelees asked, glancing up at him as Bomba muttered something darkly.

"I was talking about you," Coricopat replied as he started for the conference room with Steve in it. "You can join me if you would prefer."

"Oh," Mistoffelees glanced at Bomba's expression and nearly stepped on Coricopat's feet as he followed him.

They entered, Coricopat offering Steve a gentle smile, "No luck, huh?"

"No, not- not really. Look, um, I'm sorry I'm not more help to you. My bell got rung pretty good in Fallujah."

"You were in Iraq?" Mistoffelees asked, voice soft.

"Yeah. It's where I found Lucy. We called in this predator strike on this trigger house. Two hellfires came in and just destroyed everything. And I hear this little whimpering, so I lift up this piece of roof and there she was, just wagging her tail."

Coricoapt hesitated before speaking again, "You think you could look at one more book?"

Steve bit his lip and then nodded, "Yeah."

"You're doing good," Mistoffelees tried to assure him as Sonya Vlask stalked in, ordering agents around quickly.

Coricopat looked up, "Excuse me a moment." He stepped to the door of the conference room, "What's going on, sir?"

"Paul Ignazio, Barelli's number two, just turned up dead," Sonya replied before turning to snap something at the other agents to make sure NYPD didn't get ahold of the scene.

"His nephew?" Coricopat glanced at a picture of the man, startling slightly as Steve spoke.

"That's the guy that asked me to take the bible."

Sonya paused, looking at the homeless man and Bomba who stood frozen in shock with the coffee pot still in hand. "Fantastic," he said, running a hand over his face.

Coricopat managed not to swear, glancing at Steve, "Alright, thank you. If you'll stay here with Bombalurina I'll go see what we can sort out."

Bomba scowled at him. "Next time, you're putting Macavity on babysitting duty," she told him under her breath as Coricopat passed her toward the door.

Her boss smiled a bit, "I'll consider it. Get to know the dog. It'll help." Her scowl followed them outside.

Coricopat sighed, glancing at Mistoffelees as they headed for the car, "Great, there went our lead..."

"It's not a cold trail yet," the shorter man replied.

"True. Sooner we get there the better off we'll be."

"Just try not to break any speeding laws," Mistoffelees teased.

Coricopat smirked, "If I needed to hurry I'd see about the siren, which at this rate I might consider."

The shorter man just grinned. "I always liked using a siren."

"Tell me you didn't violate that law too..." The agent muttered.

"Well," he paused and smirked. "Of course I never. I wasn't driving the car after all."

"Of course you never."

Biting the inside of his lip, Mistoffelees looked down as they reached the car. He really needed to remember not to joke about things involving Pounce.

"You alright?" Coricopat glanced at him.

Snapping his head up, Mistoffelees laughed. "Of course I am," he replied, sliding into the car. "I mean, I just don't like shootings is all."

That earned an arched brow as the taller man got into the car, heading out, "Alright." He turned on the lights to get through the traffic as quickly as possible, pulling up at the pier not long after, seeing it cordoned off, "It might be best if you wait with the car until I see if we actually have the crime scene."

"I'd prefer not to," Mistoffelees replied. "At the very least the waiting in the car bit. If you want me to stick back, I can."

Coricopat hesitated and then nodded, "If you would stick back, that would probably be ideal."

The shorter man sighed but nodded non-the-less. The agent inclined his head and then started for the cordon, ducking under the police tape and pulling on a pair of gloves.

Sonya was already there, looking over the scene. "You wrap this up and have some lunch," he was telling a cop and looked over at Coricopat when he entered.

Coricopat considered the body, frowning and speaking mostly to himself, "That's him. Close range shot."

"There's no eye witnesses either," Sonya added, and looked around before running a hand over his eyes again.

"The body's not waterlogged, so it's fresh then."He knelt down picking up a casing with a pen, "Twenty-five caliber casing. European gage?"

"Please," a voice said behind him, and one could almost hear the eye roll. "It's a twenty two caliber. This is Brooklyn, not Bavaria. Zimmerman, this is a homicide, not an art exhibit. What are you doing here?"

Coricopat's jaw tensed, "You haven't even seen the casing, Ruiz." He straightened and turned around, "I see they let you out of your cubicle."

"This is my show now," the dark haired FBI agent replied. "Where's your pet convict then?"

"I left him in the car with the windows cracked," came the dry answer.

"What are you doing on my crime scene?" Ruiz demanded, not looking amused in the least.

"It tails into my case," Coricopat answered.

Ruiz looked at Sonya, who really looked like he wanted no part in this conversation. "This is mob retaliation," Ruiz said. "It's my investigation now. You don't believe me, ask Vlask about jurisdiction."

Coricopat glanced at their boss, "Sir..."

"Now, don't," Sonya said, holding up a hand and leading Coricopat off to the side. "Don't start with me."

He grit his teeth, "You've got Ruiz running organized crime? That's unbelievable!"

"Every year we offer you the post and you turn me down every year," Sonya replied. "It's not my fault it's not the most capable agent."

"It's not mob on mob, sir. The bible's the key to this," Coricopat ignored the comment about the possible semi-promotion.

"All you have to support that is a homeless man with a sick dog and a spotty memory. What we have here is dead member of the Barelli family and odds are he was killed by the Marettis. That's how it works here."

He drew a deep breath, "Fine. I'll stay out of the active investigation. I just want a look at whatever's on the body."

"It's Ruiz's case. And he's not..." Sonya paused the sigh. "He's not comfortable sharing information with Caffrey."

"Seriously? He's an official consultant. You signed off on him."

"That doesn't mean people aren't going to have reservations," Sonya replied. "And it's his case."

His jaw tensed, "All right. I'll stay out of the case."

"Thank you," Sonya nodded. "You have plenty of cases on your sheet. Let them handle this one."

Coricopat sighed and nodded, heading back to where he'd left Mistoffelees. "Well?" the shorter man asked from where he was leaning against the car. He'd seen the exchange from a distance but had no idea what it meant.

"We've been asked to step down."

"What? Why?"

"Because it's organized crimes' area of expertise apparently."

Mistoffelees frowned. "Can we at least see the file, figure out if it's gonna connect to the bible?"

"No, we can't. Hands off the investigation entirely. Ruiz won't share the case file with me. So I can't do anything."

Mistoffelees' nose wrinkled, even as he wondered if there was more to this than that. "Well, that's dickish of him. Do you think this is a retaliation killing?"

"I don't think Paul would have met a Maretti alone by this river. Not considering all the blood in the water."

"But if he did? If Ruiz is right?"

"Then we're on the edge of a mob war."

Mistoffelees swore under his breath. "So what do we do?" he asked once he was done.

"Well, I can't do much of anything. Like I said, Ruiz isn't willing to share the case file."

"Where's that leave us?" Mistoffelees asked.

Coricopat offered him a long look, "Like I said,  _I_  can't do much of anything."

"Oh," Mistoffelees managed and looked around the pier, picking up Coricopat's FBI windbreaker he'd just taken off. "I'm cold. Do you mind?"

The agent eyed him a bit, but shook his head, "No, I don't mind."

Mistoffelees wrapped the coat around his shoulders and looked over the bay. "I hope spring comes soon," he muttered.

"Well, late spring anyhow, if you want warmth," Coricopat responded. "Where are you from originally?"

The shorter man could feel the vertebra in his spine tense one by one, but he otherwise didn't react. "California," he replied easily, the lie simple enough.

That earned an arched eyebrow, but he nodded slightly, "Explains why New York winters are cold for you."

Mistoffelees snorted. "I've never liked the cold," he said, hunching his shoulders slightly and that at least was entirely true.

"I see. Well, we'd better get back I suppose."

"Yeah," Mistoffelees said. "Are you gonna need me or...?"

"I'll take you back to Jenny's."

"Thanks," Mistoffelees said with a faint smile.

"Of course, hop in."

Trailing over him, Mistoffelees pulled the jacket closer.

They drove to Jenny's, Coricopat pulling up outside, "I want the windbreaker back tomorrow, alright?"

"Sure," Mistoffelees said, offering him a charming smile. "What, scared I'll do something with it?"

That earned a faint smile, "I never know what you'll do. Try not to though, hm?"

"I promise I won't use it to like, impersonate an agent or something," Mistoffelees said, rolling his eyes and he got out of the car. "But... thanks."

"Good, have a good day, I'll see you tomorrow morning."

Offering him a smile free of the strain he was feeling, Mistoffelees closed the door and hoped the steps inside. Coricopat waited until he was inside before pulling away and heading back to work.

w-w-w-w

Jerrie shifted his shoulders, Coricopat's windbreaker just a little tight across them, as he approached Ignazio's house. He reached the entrance and went to duck under the crime scene tape.

"Whoa!" the officer on duty said, snapping to attention. He looked several hours overdo for a shift change. "Where do you think you're going?"

"This is Paul Ignazio's apartment right? I'm Ted Jefferson from the evidence recovery team."

"I don't care which Jefferson you are, I need your ID."

He hesitated, making something up on the spot, "I pulled a double hommie last night. Ah. It's in the van. My- my partner took it to see his girlfriend in Queens."

"That ain't my problem," the officer protested.

"Look, I-I just need a urine swab from the vic's toilet. If I don't get it soon, it will spike the cross reactivity and then-"

"I got orders," the office protested.

"Damn..." Jerrie considered, "Oh, I know! You can get it! It's easy. All you got to do is swab around the rim of the toilet then, drop the swab into the tube, screw the cap on the tube, and bam! We're good to go." He offered the swab kit to the officer.

"No way," the other protested, stepping back and looking horrified.

"Okay. Now it's your problem." Jerrie pulled out his phone and flipped it open, "Hey, Cap, I got a local hero by the name of uh He leaned in to check the guy's name and badge number.

"Okay, okay," the officer protested, holding his hands up. "Go get it yourself already, god."

Jerrie suppressed a grin, "Never mind, Cap. Hero's on our side." He stepped past the guy and in to the apartment. He made his way to the back door, opening it for Mistoffelees, "Hey there."

"Any problems getting in?" Mistoffelees asked, snapping a pair of gloves on and working his way around the apartment.

"None. Barney Fife out there thinks I'm swabbing toilets. Figure we've got about ten minutes until he gets curious."

"Is that standard toilet swabbing time?" Mistoffelees asked, looking over the bookcase and bending his knees and leaning back to get a better look.

The red head nodded as he started rifling through the papers on a small desk, "Yes, that's exactly what it is."

Mistoffelees glanced over at him and smirked. "You look pretty nice in that FBI windbreaker. Perhaps you should look into another career path."

Jerrie rolled his eyes at that, "No thanks, I prefer to keep my soul."

"Ah, why'd you need that?" Mistoffelees asked, running a finger down the spine of a book, considering with a small frown. "Paul convinced our homeless guy to steal a bible. And he was researching something... Hundred Years War, the Crusades, Illuminated manuscripts..." he opened the book he'd been considering, flipping through it. "Why is a mob guy researching medieval history? You know the name Maria Fiametta?"

"Because a soul is what separates me from the establishment. And I don't think I know the name." He thought for a moment, "No I definitely don't know a Maria Fiametta."

"She's an art historian, Brooklyn State."

"Well, what do you know? Paul had an appointment at Brooklyn State."

"How serendipitous," Mistoffelees said, holding the book and reaching for his cell phone, hitting Coricopat's number.

Coricopat picked up on the second ring, "Find anything?"

"I could have been calling about something else, but yes, your hunch was right and Ruiz is on the wrong trail."

"And how did you learn this, or do I not want to know?"

"A friend," Mistoffelees replied with a shrug Coricopat couldn't see. The movement was so ingrained to his speech patterns he didn't even think about it.

"The same friend I met this morning?"

"Uuuuuh," Mistoffelees glanced over at Jerrie.

"Tell Mr.  _Havisham_  that I appreciate his help," Coricopat emphasized.

Jerrie heard that and paled, his green eyes darting to Mistoffelees' face.

"I'll be sure to pass that along when I see him again," Mistoffelees managed.

"Good. So what did you find?"

"A professor at Brooklyn State. Writes about the black market and all sorts of unsavory types around the world. You can't run with these people without being willing to get dirt under your nails."

"Name?"

"Her name is Maria Fiametta," Mistoffelees replied. "We gonna meet her?"

"Yeah, I think so. I'll set up a meeting for tomorrow. Bring my windbreaker, remember."

"Of course," Mistoffelees said. "It's sitting pretty in my sight right now. I won't forget."

"...Right. I will talk to you tomorrow. Good evening, Mistoffelees."

"Night," Mistoffelees murmured into the phone, lingering for a moment before snapping it shut.

Jerrie considered him for a long moment, "Okay, out the back, I gotta head out the front. Meet you around the block, kay?"

"Around the block," Mistoffelees agreed, sliding the book back and heading out the door, slipping his gloves into his pockets. He stopped short several paces away from his meeting place with Jerrie, hearing a small mewing sound.

Jerrie took a couple minutes longer before heading out of the front door, nodding to the officer still on duty and strolling down the block and around the corner before hurrying to meet Mistoffelees. Except Mistoffelees wasn't quite in sight, having followed the sound.

His friend looked around in concern. It was New York, one didn't jsut wander off, "Misto?"

"Hold on," he called out, appearing back around the corner holding a small bundle of pitiful and cold looking fur.

Jerrie blinked at him, "What's that? And where did you find it?"

"It's a cat," Mistoffelees said, sounding offended on its behalf. "And its eyes are barely open."

"You mean someone just dumped it?"

"Yeah, in a cardboard box and everything," Mistoffelees said as the bundle started squirming and he changed his hold slightly.

"What are you going to do with it?"

"I can't leave it," Mistoffelees replied as it mewed, clawing at his hands with tiny claws. They weren't large enough to draw blood, but it was leaving his hands scraped up.

Jerrie shrugged out of the windbreaker, "Here, wrap it up in something."

Mistoffelees nodded, hopping Coricopat wasn't allergic to cats as he bundled the kitten up and held it to his chest. Little blue eyes looked up at him and he couldn't help but smile. "Come on, let's get going."

Jerrie followed him, "Cute kitten, what are you going to feed it?"

"Uh," Mistoffelees considered. "Do kittens still drink milk at this point?"

"Looks about that age, but it's not gonna do well with the cow's milk that's in the fridge."

Mistoffelees considered. "Well, I know there's a pet store near Jenny's, in my radius. I'm sure they'll have to have something, right?"

"They should. Should also take the little thing to the vet."

Mistoffelees nodded. "Yeah. Bedding, food, vet, and probably some other stuff," he started ticking off and laughed. "I'm glad the FBI is paying me."

Jerrie grinned at that, "Yeah. Might as Jenny see if she has any ideas."

The shorter man glanced down at the kitten, who peered at the world from the folds of an FBI windbreaker. "I hope her pug doesn't mind..."

"Next thing to check, I guess. Gotta get back to her place to do that first though."

Mistoffelees nodded, finally reaching the block that led to Jenny's.

"Well, I think I'm gonna leave you here, if that's okay?"

"Don't wanna come up?" Mistoffelees asked, tilting his head back.

"I got some stuff I gotta get done today. I'll be by tomorrow night?"

"Yeah," Mistoffelees waved him off. "Alright. Good luck on your stuff."

"Thanks. Good luck with the kitten."

Mistoffelees offered him one more smile before taking his latest treasure and heading up the steps to Jenny's, slipping inside and calling for her.

Jenny came out of her library, smiling, "Yes, Mistoffelees?"

He lifted the bundle in his arms, causing the kitten to protest quite loudly. "Well, erm..."

Her eyes widened, "Good heavens, a kitten?"

"It was lost and on its own," he said. "Do you think Skimble would mind having another animal around?"

Jenny shook her head, "We'll let them get to know each other slowly. He'll learn to live with it."

Mistoffelees flashed her a blinding and entirely sincere smile as he set the windbreaker and kitten down on the couch. Peeking its head up, the kitten considered and once it realized it was warm and safe curled up in a little ball, tail flickering over its nose.

"I'll need food, supplies, and probably take it to the vet," Mistoffelees listed off. "Do you know of a vet in two miles?"

Sitting down carefully next to the kitten and gently stroking it's ears she nodded, "There's one that I take Skimble to, about twelve blocks away."

"Think they're still doing walk ins?" Mistoffelees asked, line of his shoulders relaxing slightly. "I'm sorta curious what gender the little ball even is."

Jenny glanced at the clock, "I think they do walk-ins for another hour. Shall we?"

"If you don't mind of course," Mistoffelees said with a grin. "I could walk but..."

"You most certainly will not be walking. Let me get my coat and purse."

Before she could do that, he leaned over and kissed her cheek. "You are an amazing woman."

Jenny smiled, "Well, I'm hardly going to let you walk with that poor little thing bundled up in that wind breaker. Find a towel for it."

Mistoffelees grinned, moving to do just that but the kitten swiped at him when he tried to lift it from the windbreaker. "Oh come on," he murmured. "I have to give that back to Cori, or he'll have my hide. You're not allowed to get attached."

Jenny rose, going to find her coat and purse, returning a few minutes later, "Bring it in the windbreaker if need be."

"No," he protested, holding a towel. "I'm serious about it not getting attached. Has to learn hard lessons, hm?" he said, picking up the kitten and holding it under his chin until the small creature calmed down enough to accept the towel.

"I doubt it will have that many hard lessons to learn, Misto. It's a kitten and will certainly be spoiled before the month's out."

Mistoffelees grinned. "Alright, then it can learn one-you can't always stick with the thing you want. But it'll be spoiled in every other way, I'm sure," he said, heading for the door. Jenny shook her head, following him out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mistoffelees: Solver of crimes and savior of abandoned kittens. (Also, after getting very involved in the Avengers fandom, it is very strange to write/look at the name Steve without going "Rodgers?)


	9. You Wouldn't Dare

A while later, Mistoffelees re-entered the house, the kitten safely in a new carrier, several bottles of food in a bag along with a couple medications and a bed. He even had a list of what he needed to pick up the next day to make the kitten feel really at home, though he seemed to have a good start. The kitten had been examined, declared healthy, and given the first dose of shots.

Jenny closed the door behind them, "Shall we go see about getting this little one settled in then?"

Mistoffelees nodded, heading up the stairs. "Little guy has had a long day after all," he agreed, elbowing open the door to the small apartment.

His landlady entered the apartment as well, "He seems to like you, which is promising."

"I hope so," Mistoffelees said, lifting the kitten and setting it on his shoulder, where the kitten happily curled up. "Huh, I didn't actually expect that to work."

Jenny laughed quietly, "Now just don't move too much."

"That could be a problem," Mistoffelees laughed, petting the kitten between his ears. "You'll need a name..."

"Well, what comes to mind when you see him?"

The kitten mewed when Mistoffelees pulled him off his shoulders and held the small creature out in front of him. "Well, he's a cat, so elegance. And he's in formal dress," he added, bringing the tuxedo kitten back to his chest. "So classy."

Jenny considered, looking around as she thought, "Perhaps after an author?"

"A classy author," Mistoffelees agreed. "So probably British." His eyes strayed over to the small stack of books near his bed that he'd been working on building back up.

She strolled over to the books, looking over the authors, "Well, you have quite a bit of Wilde here."

He tried not to react to that. "Yeah," he said softly. "I really do." He looked down at the kitten again, a soft smile on his face. "Oscar, then?"

"I think that is the perfect name for him, yes."

Mistoffelees grinned, settling on the couch and letting the kitten curl up on his lap. Jenny paused for a moment before sitting down next to him, "Are you doing alright, dear?"

"No," he replied, for once honest to the question. "Do you ever have those days where you really hate it when someone's right about you?"

She nodded, "From time to time. What was someone right about this time?"

"Coricopat, which is icing on the cake," he said, leaning his head against her shoulder. "Knew Jer wasn't my lover because I am... apparently too tactile to kick anyone out of my bed."

She wrapped an arm around him, "Oh, Mistoffelees... He, Coricopat I mean, from what I've met of him, seem the sort to speak without processing."

"It's not  _quite_  what you expect to find in an FBI file is all," he murmured, shifting himself and the kitten into the touch. "I didn't even realize he'd notice. We chased each other up and down New York but we didn't meet that often-it was sorta the point. If I'm that obvious how can I pull off cons or delicate operations? Besides, if he thought I had a lover he might think I wasn't going after Pounce anymore."

"Is it possible he's just focused on it? I don't know why he would be, but I wouldn't say that it's obvious that you're that tactile. Not with just a few encounters, anyhow."

"Why would he be focused on that?" Mistoffelees protested.

Jenny glanced at him and then offered a half shrug, "I don't know."

"You don't know or you just aren't mentioning it?" he mumbled, pressing a bit closer.

"Perhaps a bit of both."

Mistoffelees pressed his shoulder a bit harder against her. "You're not gonna tell me?"

"Not yet, dearie."

He made a dissatisfied noise, petting one of the kitten's ears. "I guess it just made me realize how much I missed touch."

Her hand moved up to comb over his hair in much the same motion, "It happens. You've been without it for rather a long time."

"I suppose," he said. "I just didn't want to hear it and I didn't want him saying it."

"Is there a reason beyond him being...him…that you didn't want him saying it?"

He tried not to sigh. "He put me in prison-he took that away from me. Not to mention Jerrie was saying stupid things about falling in love with him."

Jenny blinked at that, her hand stilling, "Is that a possibility?"

"What?" he blinked at her, tilting his head back.

"What Jerrie said. What made him bring it up?"

"Worst things that could possibly happen."

Jenny shook her head, "Dear me."

"Was that a dear me I agree, or dear me he's off his rocker?" Mistoffelees asked with a tiny smile.

"Dear me, I don't think it was especially a wise thing for him to say," Jenny sighed.

Mistoffelees smiled faintly, settling into the couch, kitten, and embrace. "He has a lot of those moments," he murmured.

w-w-w-w

The next morning, Mistoffelees woke up to find Oscar curled up underneath his chin. He spent a few moments petting the small kitten before rising and moving around the apartment, actually awake in time to be mostly ready when the knock came on his door. However, once he'd left the bed, so had Oscar, and the kitten was now perched quite protectively on Coricopat's windbreaker.

Coricopat rapped on the door, waiting for Mistoffelees to answer it. The meeting with the woman at the university had been set for about an hour from the time he was due to pick the other man up.

Mistoffelees paused, heading quickly for the door, not quite ready. "I can't decide whether your clock is ahead, if mine's behind, or if you just like catching me in a state of half dress every morning," Mistoffelees greeted him. "Come in, if you want your windbreaker. You're gonna have to fight for it."

"Fight for it?" He blinked in confusion as he entered the apartment.

Mistoffelees nodded, heading to the bathroom to finish shaving. That garnered an arched brow. Coricopat spotted his windbreaker and moved over, reaching out to pick it up.

He was greeted with hissing as Oscar swiped a paw out from the folds. He yelped slightly, startling back, "What did you wrap in here, a demon?"

Oscar poked his head out, ears back before walking in a circle over the top of the windbreaker and lying down in the middle of it.

"Oscar's not a demon," Mistoffelees protested. "He's a kitten. And I told you you were gonna have to fight for it."

"And now I can see he's a kitten. I all I got before was a hiss and claws." Coricopat hesitated, slowly reaching for the kitten this time, intending to stroke his ears, if he would allow him to.

The kitten glanced up at him, hissing softly again.

He scowled at the kitten, "That's my coat, not yours."

Oscar appeared to disagree, settling more and more into his space on the coat, leaving black and white hairs all over it. Leaving the bathroom, Mistoffelees arched a brow at him. "Are you scared of a kitten?"

"No. I just don't care to go to a meeting covered in claw marks." He considered again and finally gave in, risking his hand to scoop the kitten up, pulling it against his chest and holding it there with one hand as he swept up the coat with the other, draping it over his shoulder.

Mistoffelees laughed as Oscar looked very miffed, mewing and looking up at his abductor.

Coricopat shook his head at the kitten, "No, it's my coat."

The kitten mewed again and Mistoffelees held a hand out. "Are you a cat person then?"

The agent shrugged, handing the kitten over. "I'm not much of an animal person in general, but I don't really mind them."

Taking the kitten, Mistoffelees smiled as Oscar's posture changed, the kitten butting at the short man's chin.

"Are you set?" Coricopat shook out his coat, managing to brush some of the fur off of it.

"Yeah," Mistoffelees nodded, using his free hand to pick up a jacket. "I'll just leave Oscar with Jenny for now."

"Alright, I'll meet you in the car."

Mistoffelees smiled, slightly strained. "Okay," he said softly, waiting for Coricopat to leave before taking the kitten downstairs.

w-w-w-w

Maria Fiametta was waiting for them when they arrived, "You gentlemen are with the FBI?"

Coricopat nodded, "Yes, we were hoping you could help us out on this one. We're working on a stolen bible." He glanced at Mistoffelees, "You have the picture?"

Mistoffelees held it out with a charming grin. "Thank you, Agent...?" She arched a brow at him as she took the photograph.

"Mistoffelees Caffrey," he replied, smile not quite slipping but close. "And I'm not an agent, just a consultant." He preferred to say it himself than have Coricopat point it out.

"Interesting. There's a talented manuscript forger by that name," Marie remarked, offering him a bit of a smile.

"How talented?" Mistoffelees asked, smile bright and charming.

"Oh so you are him?" She offered him a brighter smile, "You're with the FBI?"

"You could call it a work release," he shrugged, breezing past the issue as much as he could.

"I have to ask, is it true that the Vinland map is yours?" she asked, eyes lit up.

"How could it be?" Mistoffelees asked, eyes widening innocently. "But if it is a forgery, it's quite a spectacular one."

Coricopat cut in before she could say anything, preferring not to tread in those waters, "How about we return to the problem at hand? A pre-Renaissance bible stolen from a church in Brooklyn."

Maria handed the photograph back, "It's beautiful, but it's not a bible."

"It's not?" Mistoffelees asked, looking the picture over again. "Huh, you're right."

"Too small to be a bible," she explained.

"A book of hours then," Coricopat offered.

"Most likely. In the Italian style," Maria agreed.

The agent glanced at Mistoffelees, explaining though he half figured the other knew, "A large prayer book. To show their devotion, monks and nuns had to recite the songs, hymns or chants and specific times all day long."

"Sunday school?" Mistoffelees asked with an arched brow.

"Lots of Sundays," Coricopat nodded.

Maria glanced between them, but shrugged, "This is a particularly nice example."

"Paul Ignazio thought so too," the FBI agent replied. "You wouldn't happen to know him?"

"No."

"Show off," Mistoffelees muttered under his breath to Cori before turning back to Maria. "We think Paul Ignazio's the one who stole the book."

"Well, I hope you catch him then," she replied, eyes wide.

"Can't, he's dead," Coricopat reverted to being as blunt as he felt, "Looks like a mob hit, but we're still hoping to figure out who took the book."

"Well, I'd love to know. It's quite beautiful," Maria said.

Withdrawing a business card and handing it to her, the agent nodded, "If you hear anything, or come across someone who's looking to buy or sell something like that-"

"I'll call you."

"It's been a pleasure," Mistoffelees said, offering his hand since they hadn't shaken on meeting.

She shook it, "If you're ever in the mood to discuss medieval manuscripts..."

"You'd be surprised how often I'm in the mood for just that," he replied.

Coricopat shook his head, "Good day, Miss Fiametta."

"Good day, gentlemen. I look forward to hearing from you."

Mistoffelees gave her one last grin before following Coricopat out.

When they left the university, Coricopat turned the car toward Mac's rather than back to Jenny's without really thinking about it. For a while Mistoffelees didn't comment before he finally looked over. "Where are we going?"

"What? Oh, Mac's. I need to talk to him, and it's possible we can see about asking for some leftovers from whatever they had last night."

"You're just taking me over to his house?" Mistoffelees asked with an arched brow.

Coricopat shrugged, "He'll protest, but he's mostly just bluster."

"Well that's good to know," Mistoffelees muttered, hunching his shoulders slightly. "So, what was that about left overs?"

"They always have leftovers, and since he wasn't working today there's probably still some in the fridge we can possibly see about mooching for lunch," the taller man replied.

"Huh," Mistoffelees said, looking out the window. The idea of leftovers in the fridge felt so very domestic.

They pulled up in front of Macavity and Griddlebone's house a few minutes later, Coricopat parking the car and getting out, "Well, here we are."

Mistoffelees got out of the car slowly, eyes trailing up the facade of the town house. "Wow," he said under his breath. "How... homely."

"They have a dog and everything," came the dry comment as Coricopat took the steps to the door, knocking sharply on it.

"Good god," Mistoffelees said under his breath, following him.

Moments later, the door opened and Macavity leaned out. "Uh, yeah? Cor? What's up?"

"Needed to hash out the latest possible lead in the missing book of hours case."

"Come on in then," Mac said, eyeing Mistoffelees as he followed Coricopat inside.

"How's your day been, Mac?" Coricopat asked, shrugging out of his coat.

"Slow," he replied with a shrug. "Cooked a cake earlier, stuff like that." Mistoffelees' eyes widened slightly but he quickly suppressed the expression, looking around the obvious middle class and homey house instead.

"How'd that turn out?" Coricopat asked.

Macavity rolled his eyes, gesturing them both to sit down. "Well, it's cooling now."

Coricopat settled onto the couch, "Well, that's good to know. We just came from meeting with a Professor Fiametta about the missing book."

"How'd that go?" Mac asked, echoing Coricopat without meaning to as he let the dog out the back door. He bustled around the kitchen for a moment before coming to lean on the doorframe.

"She's lying about Paul and she's two degrees away from our homeless guy, but I also have trouble buying the fact that an attractive history professor offed a mobster," his friend answered.

"Really?" Macavity asked as the front door opened.

Grids entered, apparently not noticing the three men, her attention entirely on the person on the other end of her phone conversation and her tone sharp, "No, you don't want me to see the missing inventory, because if I come down there, there's going to be a lot more missing than center pieces, you got that?...Good. I'll check back in two hours. I expect to hear better," she hung up.

Coricopat's brows rose, "Okay, maybe it's not a complete stretch."

Macavity grinned, moving forward to kiss his wife on the cheek, before glancing back at Coricopat. "I was wondering when you were gonna realize that."

Griddlebone offered Mac a half-hearted embrace, "Hello all, just having some troubles with my fender."

"No worries, Cor here was just trying to decide if a woman was capable of murder or not," her husband said with a smirk.

"Oh I think so," Grids answered firmly. "What's the problem?"

"Stolen bible, dead mobster," Mac said as something dinged in the kitchen. "Oh, want lunch then?"

"Food's a good idea," his wife nodded. "Are we feeding them as well?"

"Cor shows up at lunch time and it's like a neon sign saying "feed me. Macavity replied.

"Which he hasn't done in a while, as evidenced by how thin he's gotten," Griddlebone remarked.

Coricopat rolled his eyes, "I'm right here, Grids."

She smiled at him, "Well, as you've yet to introduce the person I don't know, I wasn't really aware of that. Since I assume you brought him."

"No, I just snuck in," Mistoffelees replied, charming without nearly the same level he'd turned on Maria earlier.

She offered him a smile at that, "Into the home of an FBI agent, are you sure that's wise?"

"He's feeding me, isn't he?" Mistoffelees replied, implying that he was charming enough to get the FBI to feed him rather than shoot him.

That earned a laugh as she extended her hand to him, "Griddlebone, call me Grids."

For a moment he hesitated before taking the hand, giving her a softer and more genuine smile. "Mistoffelees Caffrey," he said softly, as if he wished he could give any other name.

Her eyes lit at that, "Oh  _you're_  Mistoffelees. It's good to put a face with that name."

The right corner of his mouth curled up at that, giving her a crooked grin. "It's good to meet you too." When Macavity came out of the kitchen with a casserole, Mistoffelees turned to him. "You have a lovely wife."

"Yeah, I like her," Macavity replied with a smile.

"And evidently she likes him to put up with him this long," Coricopat remarked, rising from the couch.

Macavity rolled his eyes as Mistoffelees trailed toward the table. "Shut up and eat, Cor."

Grids moved over, "So you've got a missing bible and a dead mobster today?"

"Technically," Coricopat answered.

"Meaning?"

"It's a book of hours and the mobster's not our case," he replied after a moment.

"You're a magnet for trouble, I swear," Macavity sighed.

"Well, it's like we're dealing with a shell game," Mistoffelees said, considering the table before crumpling up the receipt from the pet store of the day before and picking up several empty cups.

Grids' brows rose, "Visual aids. Very nice. You guys should use them more often." Macavity shot her a look but didn't comment, watching the conman at work.

"Okay, beige mug is Paul, our dead mobster, and the glass is Steve, our homeless vet and the blue mug is Maria," Mistoffelees said, moving them around. "For some reason Paul," and he moved the cup, "Reads Maria's book and realizes the healing bible's worth a hell lot of cash." He put the receipt under Paul's mug and continued. "But it's also his uncle's pride and joy and he doesn't want to risk Barelli's wrath, so..."

"He has Steve steal the book of hours," Coricopat finished the thought. "Plausible deniability."

"But..." Grids frowned, "If that doesn't work then the homeless guy takes the fall. Well, he's certainly got an evil streak in him."

"Takes the bible from Steve, calls Maria to make the deal and something goes wrong," Mistoffelees said, nodding at Grid's comment.

Coricopat considered, "Deal goes down wrong, or he decides he wants both the cash and the book."

"Paul ends up dead, whatever happens, and the bible goes missing. Steve never even met Maria," he said, knocking over the cup that was Paul.

"And your girl walks away clean with a valuable book," Macavity said, lifting the cup that was Maria, and revealing one of their napkins rather than the receipt. "How did you do that?"

"A magician never reveals his secrets," Grids reminded her husband with a smile.

"Question is how we get Maria to reveal hers," Mistoffelees said, putting his chin on his hands and considering a moment.

"Well, if I stretch it I might be able to get a warrant to get into her place," Coricopat considered.

Grids shook her head, "If she's smart she won't have that bible anywhere close to her."

"Grids, such a devious side to you," Macavity drawled.

"But she's right, she won't keep the bible that close to her," Mistoffelees shook his head.

Grids kissed her husband's cheek, "Don't cross me."

Coricopat turned his attention to Mistoffelees, "I've got it. She knew who you were. Mistoffelees Caffrey, master forger."

"Alleged," Mistoffelees protested.

"Like hell. We so caught you on forgery," Macavity snorted.

"Of bonds, not medieval manuscripts," Coricopat reminded. "Either way, if she's got the book, it links her to the murder. She's going to want to get rid of it. We've got all the usual challenges locked down. But if she thinks you might be interested..."

Mistoffelees' brows rose and he smiled. "Convince her I'm pliable?"

"Exactly. We find some street contacts, float it out that you're back in business...it could work," the lead agent offered.

"There's no guarantee that'd reach her, and it would take way too long," Mistoffelees shook his head. "Gotta be more direct."

"Why don't you just ask her out?" Grids asked as she dished up casserole for the four of them, setting the plates down in front of each of them.

Macavity and Mistoffelees looked up at her. "What?"

"Well, it gets you an in, probably an invite back to her place. It would give you a chance to talk about the book, offer to buy it, whatever."

"Think she'll say yes?" Mistoffelees asked.

Grids didn't hesitate, nodding, "yes."

Her husband looked over at her and Mistoffelees gave her the crooked smile again. She glanced at her husband, "What?"

"I said nothing," he said, focusing instead on lunch.

She sent Coricopat a look that pretty clearly read  _Finish eating and leave, please_. Moments later Coricopat and Mistoffelees were out the door.

w-w-w-w

A while later, Mistoffelees glanced over at Coricopat and down to his phone. "Are you sure this is a good idea?" he asked, looking around the FBI offices.

Coricopat shrugged slightly, "We'll bug her place while you're out, and you can put one or more of us on speed dial should there be an issue at all."

"Alright," Mistoffelees said, running a hand over his hair before putting his fedora back on and dialing Maria's number.

She picked up on the third ring, "Hello?"

"Hello, Maria? It's Mistoffelees Caffrey?"

"Oh, Mistoffelees! Wonderful to hear from you."

"It's always nice to hear your voice," he replied. "How does this afternoon find you?"

"Passable, that's how. And yourself?"

"With no plans for this evening," he replied, glancing at Coricopat. Coricopat was studiously ignoring the conversation, his attention apparently focused on a file in his hands.

"Well, what a coincidence, it appears I have nothing tonight either..."

"Really? How do you feel about dinner then?" he asked, voice brighter then he was feeling.

Her smile could be heard in her voice, "Dinner sounds great."

He named a restaurant that tended to have a long wait, and was upscale enough he was probably going to have to go to Jerrie for extra cash to cover it. "Perfect, shall we meet there at say seven?"

"I look forward to it," he said, putting as much charm as he could fit into the words.

"Then I shall see you there. Have a good afternoon, Mistoffelees."

"You too," he said, snapping the phone shut and arching a brow at Coricopat.

The agent looked up, "So you have a date then."

"If you can call undercover work a date, yes, I have a date with a stunningly beautiful woman."

"Mm. Well, I suppose that's good then."

The shorter man arched a brow. "Really?" he drawled, voice dry.

"What do you mean 'really'?"

"You suppose that's good then," Mistoffelees teased. "You sound thrilled. Won't this get you closer to solving your case?"

Coricopat nodded once, "Probably."

"So, god, cheer up a little," Mistoffelees said, throwing his hands up and rolling his eyes.

"You're going in blind and I'm supposed to be cheery about this?" Coricopat demanded.

"So, you're concerned for me?" Mistoffelees asked, brows going up in surprise.

"Why so shocked by that idea?"

"Seems weird, is all," Mistoffelees replied with a small shrug. "For you to be concerned."

"Why would it be so strange?" Coricopat pressed, grey eyes sweeping over Mistoffelees' features

"Well," Mistoffelees frowned, shifting under that scrutiny. "You're you and I'm me. It's just a matter of sending your agents in to do their job and I hardly expected you to really care what happens considering... the whole work release thing."

Coricopat snapped the file shut, his expression changing and his initial reaction hidden behind a deep frown, "Well, then I'd better see to it that my agents are set for tonight then."

Mistoffelees blinked at the rapid change. "Okay, see, that's more what I would expect."

"What? Never mind." He straightened, heading for the door.

"I don't want to never mind," Mistoffelees muttered.

Coricopat turned, "What do you want me to say then?"

"I don't know," he shrugged. "What you're actually thinking?"

"I'm thinking that it's rather suddenly not your business."

The shorter man blinked. "Being concerned about me is suddenly not my business or never minding isn't?"

"What I'm thinking isn't."

"But I'm curious now," Mistoffelees protested, taking a step toward him.

Coricopat's jaw tensed, "And so obviously I must satisfy that curiosity."

"Of course," Mistoffelees replied, before adding, trying to keep it light. "Or I'll give your windbreaker back to Oscar."

That garnered a scowl, "You wouldn't dare." The black haired man just shrugged, holding his hands up innocently. "Fine. Honest answer is I don't want you getting hurt."

That actually brought Mistoffelees up short. "Why not?" he blurted before shaking his head slightly. "I mean, I've done countless things much more dangerous than dinner with a potential murderess."

Coricopat sought through his possible answers, landing on one that wouldn't go well, but that might end the conversation, "You're an asset."

It almost worked. "You don't want to lose an asset," Mistoffelees murmured. "You don't care if they get banged up in the process. But, fine," he said, rising finally.

Years of training kept Coricopat from flinching at that, "Fine?"

"Doesn't much matter, does it? If you don't mind, I need to go pick out a suitable outfit for this evening."

The agent looked away, nodding, "Alright. Good afternoon."

"God, you're so repressed," Mistoffelees muttered, stomping from the office and unsure why he was so annoyed. Coricopat watched him go, frowning, but turned his attention to getting the team set for that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a pretty specific reason Mistoffelees likes Oscar Wilde as an author so much and it's not just because VS was taking an Oscar Wilde class while writing this. It will actually show up in the plot later.
> 
> Also, Mistoffelees' crooked smile is his real one. Cheers all!


	10. I Think Our Felon is Slightly Smarter Than That

Jerrie knocked on Mistoffelees’ door and stepped inside later that afternoon, "Misto?"

"Hey," Mistoffelees said, moving back and forth from the closet to the table, laying out suits and ties and looking dissatisfied with the entire thing.

"So, I want to know if this was an exercise in Schadenfreude?  Because you win.  It's just a bottle, Misto."  His gaze moved to the suits, "What are you doing?"

"Getting ready for a date," he replied and stopped midway across the room. "And the lab needs to reexamine its work. It's _not_ just a bottle."

"The lab went over every inch of the thing.  Finger prints, chemicals, black light- nothing.  I even tested the remnants of the wine left in the bottle.  which, by the way, was a very lovely boxed franzia from early October."

"Thank you for that," Mistoffelees nearly growled, not sure he wanted to know what Pounce was drinking out of their bottle before leaving him.

Jerrie scowled at him, "Hey, you wanted to know what I found.  That's what I found.  In fact, that's all I found."

Pausing again, Mistoffelees ran a hand through his hair, considering the suit and shaking his head, taking it back to hang up. "Then you're still missing something."

"Misto, I ran test after test on this thing, there's _nothing_ here."

"There has to be," he protested. "The only thing he left me? The Morse code? Our story can't be over like this, Jerrie. It's not an ending."

Jerrie finally spotted the kitten and scooped it up, scratching it behind the ears for a moment before sneezing, "Look, maybe you're grasping, Misto.  Maybe it was good bye."

For a moment Mistoffelees considered the kitten and the picture the larger man made with the tiny tuxedo before his shoulders sagged as Jerrie's words sank in. "But... it can't be. Not like that."

His friend sighed, "I'll check one more time, but Misto....I don't think there's anything there."

"And you've had no luck actually finding him?" Mistoffelees asked, expression crumpling.

Jerrie moved over, offering the kitten, "Not yet."

Swallowing, Mistoffelees accepted the kitten, who mewed and batted one small paw at Mistoffelees' cheek. "God, why would he just take off like that?"

Jerrie looped an arm around his friend's shoulder, "Maybe you're right.  Maybe he's being held against his will.  We'll find him, Misto."

"We will," Mistoffelees agreed with a swallow. "I just, did you never talk to him while I was in prison?"

"Not much, not really."

"So no idea what might have caused this?" Mistoffelees asked, focusing on Oscar.

He shook his head, "I didn't know the guy, really."

Still paying more attention to the cat, Mistoffelees smiled faintly. "Never did approve of my lovers."

That earned a ghost of Jerrie's grin, "Well, have you ever liked any of mine?"

"Sure, that one girl, once," Mistoffelees shrugged.

"Oh, right, the one I ended up being unable to stand within three weeks."

"Yeah that one," Mistoffelees said with a grin. "I was real supportive of her." Leaning down, he let Oscar jump onto the couch from where the kitten was squirming. "Alright," he said, squaring his shoulder. "Please help me match a tie to a goddamn suit before I need to go out tonight."

w-w-w-w

That evening, Mistoffelees settled down across from Maria, offering her that charming smile that wasn't at all like the crooked grin he'd given Griddlebone. He raised a wine glass out to her. "To history, old and new."

She tipped her glass to him, seconding the toast.  "So, how does an FBI agent get a table here?  It's a six month wait."

"Well, an FBI agent wouldn't have gotten it," Mistoffelees replied, taking a sip. "I had a previous life after all, and plenty of charm."

That earned a smile as she sipped at her wine, "That's right.  Do you believe in reincarnation then?"'

"You could say that," he replied. "But what about you? Any previous lives?"

"Not really, same as I've always been.  Though the old me has nineties hair."

"I don't believe it," he returned, taking another sip of the wine. "Here," he said, setting the glass down and reaching a hand out. "Let me see your lifeline, to fill in those blanks."

She arched a brow, but held her hand out, "You aren't honestly going to read my palm right now, are you?"

"Why not?" he said, flashing her another grin. "Hm, calluses. Not afraid to get dirty then?"

"Very true.  What else do you see?" she smirked slightly.

"No ring," he replied, "And no signs of there ever being one."

She closed her hand and captured his, "No ring for you either."

"No," he said, voice dropping and his eyes shutting off for a moment before he wrenched himself back into the moment. "Prison got in the way. Besides, it was illegal back then."

"Ill--Swing both ways then?"

He smiled. "You could say that. Equal opportunity, or that I like seeing things from all sides."

She returned the smile, "Very good to know.  It must be strange now.  What with working for the FBI and all."

"It's just a different side to see things from," he shrugged. "Besides, it's nice to read from the other team's playbook."

"The other team?  Here I thought you were out of the game."

“Oh, I am," he assured, his grin belaying that statement entirely.

She considered him for a long moment, "Have you found your missing bible?"

"You know anyone who wants to buy one?" he asked, leaning in, and trying not to think about the FBI agents who were probably bugging Maria's apartment right now.

Maria leaned a bit nearer, "Maybe.  Looters approach me all the time.  So do buyers.  It's rather an attractive offer."

"I'm sure it must be," Mistoffelees murmured, leaning closer.

She smirked, offering him one of the menus, "What do you say you surprise me tonight?"

"You sure?" he asked with an arched brow, accepting the menu. "I might order something you don't like and then where would we be?"

"I trust you.  After all," she sat back, "you work for the FBI."

"More wine?" he offered, trying to ignore the entire issue of trust, and especially that of the FBI.

"You read minds as well as palms now?"

“The question is, do you?" Mistoffelees returned with a grin.

"Sometimes," Maria replied.

With another flash of his grin, he turned his attention to the menu. Their dinner passed in amicable conversation and flirtation and in the end Maria invited him back to her place as hoped.

Mistoffelees smiled, following her into her apartment, glancing around and hoping that the FBI had gotten and messed nothing up.

"Some wine?"  She offered with a smile.

"More of it?" he grinned, leaning his hips against a counter. "Why not?"

"So, what shall we talk about then?"  She moved over to pour some wine, her gaze flickering over the table.

"Well, there's the story of the two spies," Mistoffelees said, elbows moving back against the counter.

"Which one?" she asked, pausing for the briefest moment as she saw that her cup of brushes was off of the ring it had left in the dust, but a good inch.

"A French Duke and Italian Count. They were sworn enemies who spent the entire year trying to outwit each other, but on New Year's they got to ask a question the other had to answer truthfully," Mistoffelees continued the story, watching her.

"The trick was asking the right question, because you might never get another chance," She replied with a smile.

"I always thought honestly is a more challenging game," Mistoffelees grinned.

In the FBI van outside the apartment building, Macavity blinked. "Honestly is a more challenging game? Geez, how come none of my dates had ever gone this way?"

"Because you don't say things like honesty is a more challenging game,"  Coricopat muttered.

"Because no one talks like that," Bomba huffed.

"They do in his world," came the almost sulky reply.

Both Bomba and Macavity glanced at him. "You jealous?" Bomba asked.

Coricopat looked at her, "Jealous?"

"You sound sulky about something--wishing you had his moves or wishing he'd talk to you like that?" Bomba asked.

"Wishing we weren't stuck in this surveillance van while a former felon and a probable murderer are sipping high quality wine."

"So you're jealous of something," Macavity laughed.

"You two are insufferable.  I'm finding someone new for my stakeouts," their boss replied testily.

"Like who? Vlask?" Macavity returned. "You'd just be stuck drinking bad coffee all night."

"I'm sure I can find someone,” Coricopat muttered.

Bomba rolled her eyes, going back to listening to the tape intently.

Maria offered Mistoffelees a smile raising the wine bottle, "The wine needs to breathe.  I'm going to get a decanter.  Why don't you put some music on?"

"What are you in the mood for?" he asked, moving over to where he could see a player set out.

She left the room, calling over her shoulder as she entered her security room, "Oh you know!"

"Surprise you?" he asked, arching a brow at her music selections.

"Exactly."  Her attention was fully on the screens in front of her, rewinding the right tape until she saw Bomba and Macavity placing the bug in her living room.

Mistoffelees fiddled with the player for a while, finally choosing something with a jazz flavor, looking around the room. There was no way a college professor could get all of this just off their salary.

Maria returned, offering Mistoffelees a glass of wine, "Good choice of music."

"Glad you approve. At least this time I knew I couldn't go wrong, since it's all yours," he replied, accepting the wine.

That earned a smile, "So, what do you think of the manuscript I'm working on?"  she motioned toward her worktable.

He arched a brow, carefully taking the wine with him and leaning over one of the bibles. "It's stunning work."

"I agree."  She leaned over as well, whispering in his ear, "You know what?  I don't trust you."

"Smart," he said, turning his face closer to her's. A movement on either of their parts and they would be kissing, but there was an entirely different tension between them. "I wouldn't trust me either."

She considered him, still murmuring, "Let's play the spies' game.  I'll ask you a question."

"And I have to tell the truth?" he asked.

"And you have to tell the truth."

"Then you better ask the question," he said, tilting his head slightly.

"Which Mistoffelees Caffrey are you?  Are you working for the good guys, or are you working a bigger game?"

He considered a moment before stepping back and tagging the bug left in her pot, dropping it into his wine glass. She blinked in surprise at that action.

"That answer your question?"

"Maybe it starts to,” she admitted.

"Look," Mistoffelees started speaking, rapid fire. "The feds linked the bible to Paul Ignazio and you to him through his visits to the college. Maria, look at me. I'm living proof if the feds want something from you, they turn your life inside out to get it. They'll tell Barelli you have his book."

"Even if I don't?"

The smaller man shrugged. "I can get you two hundred fifty thousand in two days. Which is better than you can get dead in or prison. With the FBI and the mob on you, you won't be able to move it. I can."

"The other team's playbook..."she considered, "If I shouldn't risk it, why are you?  Won't they send you back for good?"

He pulled his pant leg up slightly, gesturing down. "I'm already in prison."

"Then we might be able to deal," Maria finally nodded.

"Good," he said with a grin, trying not to think about the panic that was probably happening in the van outside.

w-w-w-w

The next morning, Sonya considered Ruiz and Coricopat in one of the meeting rooms at the office. "How did you know she was in on it?"

"Lucky hunch," Coricopat answered.

Sonya looked far from impressed. "Hmmm... Ruiz?" he turned the other agent, who looked a little shame faced.

"I checked Paul's credit. He wired ten Gs from a shell corporation in Gibraltar. Owned by... well, your professor."

Coricopat managed not to smirk at that, "The hunch panned out.  She has the book, and I'm sure she's the killer."

Eyes going heavenward, Sonya nodded. "Don't bitch at each other, boys. Now, how'd last night's fishing expedition go?"

"Well..."  Coricopat sighed, "We had a bit of an equipment failure.  But, Caffrey says she has the book.  She'll sell, but only to him."

"Of course he'd say that," Sonya sighed. "What're the terms?"

"Two fifty.  Wired to a Swiss account."

"No way!" Ruiz cut in. "What if he cuts a deal with her and runs off with the money?"

Coricopat’s eyes narrowed, but he replied calmly, "What choice do we have?"

"Not much of one," Sonya said. "I don't want another body washing up. We'll send the cash to a dummy account."

"That's risky.  What if she takes a shot at Mistoffelees?"  Coricopat protested.

"I wouldn't lose any sleep over it," Ruiz huffed as Mistoffelees walked in.

"Morning, gentlemen," he drawled. "Everybody sleep well?" His tone was mild, but his stance and eyes belayed that entirely.

Coricopat smiled thinly at Ruiz, looking like he wanted to strangle the other, before he turned to Mistoffelees, "Well enough.  We need to talk, my office."

"Sure," Mistoffelees said, offering him a charming grin. Usually he didn't bother in the FBI office; he was looking obviously rattled for first thing in the morning by using it.

The taller man considered that before he turned and led the way to his office, waiting until they were closed inside, "Everything alright?"

"Perfectly," he said, grin still in place.

The other didn't look like he quite believed him, but let it slide, "Are you going to be alright with conducting an exchange for the book?"

"Sure," he said, rolling a shoulder. "Am I cutting the anklet?"

"You're going to have to if you're to convince her..."

"Your heart gonna be able to handle that?" Mistoffelees asked, looking at him through half lowered eyes.

Coricopat stiffened slightly at that, "Why wouldn't it?"

"I meant the whole heart attack thing you're going to be dealing with while I'm off your GPS."

"I've caught you before, I can do it again if I have to.  We'll make sure she doesn't do anything.  Just try not to get shot, hm?"

"Not like anyone's going to lose sleep there," Mistoffelees said, plucking a pen off Coricopat's desk and playing with it.

The agent gaped at him for a moment, "Come again?"

The shorter man just shrugged.

"Do you really think we hold your life so cheaply?"

"Some people certainly do," Mistoffelees returned, not adding that everyone who didn't say it explicitly seemed to believe it just as well too.

Coricopat sighed heavily, "Fine.  Just try to be careful."

"What's the plan then?" Mistoffelees said, expression shut off.

"We're placing the money in an account from Caymans First National.  You'll meet with her, let her take you to the drop, and I'll e-mail you the pin for the account right before the buy."

"First they're sending me back to prison," Mistoffelees remarked, still looking at the pen. "Tomorrow they're giving me a quarter of a million tax payer dollars in an off shore account. I guess that shows how much faith they have in you, huh?"

"And how much I have in you," Coricopat replied quietly.

Mistoffelees' eyes flickered up and back down, expression suddenly unsure.

"Just be careful.  And prove them wrong."

Biting his bottom lip, Mistoffelees finally nodded. "I'll look into doing so."

"I think there's some files and things if you'd like something to go over?"

The smaller man just shrugged. "Not really? But sure."

"Or books, either way I have some things I need to do at this point."

"Sure," Mistoffelees murmured, moving away from the desk to leave the office.

"I..."  Coricopat nodded and let him go, settling in his chair to get some work done.

Macavity walked in shortly therefore, looking Coricopat over. "Lucky tie today?"

Coricopat glanced up, "Mistoffelees making that buy later today, remember?"

"We're giving him money? No wonder you're wearing the lucky tie."

"We're not that stupid.  It's a fake wire transfer," Coricopat turned his attention to his computer screen.

"Then why are you so worried?" Macavity asked, crossing his arms over his chest and the files he had with him.

"He has to convince her he's working for us, which means cutting his anklet.  For real.  He...could run with that book."

That got an arched brow from the dark skinned agent. "So you have more faith in that ratty tie then  Mistoffelees?"

"This ratty tie's never forged a priceless map of Vinland," it wasn't the primary concern he had, but it was a close second.

“And you find it hard to believe he'd gonna do the right thing?" Macavity asked, finally setting the files on Coricopat's desk.

"It's not his first instinct."

"Trust isn't yours is it?" Macavity asked, well aware it was not.

"Occupational hazard.  What if we can't manage to keep an eye on them?"

"Then he'll come back," Macavity said with a shrug.

"Or get himself shot,” Coricopat muttered.

"You worried about him getting shot?" Macavity asked, arching a brow.

"She's killed once already for this book, what's to stop her doing it again?"

"I think our felon is slightly smarter than that," Macavity said with a shrug. "With a really big self preservation streak."

"And so I should stop worrying?"

The taller man just shrugged. "Maybe not."

"I'll be fine once this is all finished."

"Great," Macavity said, not quite rolling his eyes but heading for the door. "Then let's get it finished already."

Coricopat rose, "Go let Ruiz know we're set."  He headed down the stairs to let Mistoffelees know.

w-w-w-w

Mistoffelees stood on a street corner, looking both ways, hands in his pockets. Maria pulled up a couple minutes later, getting out of her car, "Hey."

Offering her a smile, Mistoffelees stepped forward, leaning over to kiss her cheek. "We have a chaperone," he whispered. "White van over my left shoulder."

She glanced in that direction before smiling, "Well, then we'll have to be careful."

"Indeed we will," he said, moving his hands to her waist. "If you don't mind, I believe this is the junction when a pat down would be appropriate?"

"Only if I can reciprocate."

"Ladies or men first?" he asked, smirking into her hair.

"After you," she replied, a smirk tugging at her lips.

Grinning, he skidded his hands down her sides and felt along the line of her skirt, patting down anywhere she could logically hide either a bug or weapon. She returned the expression, leaning into a couple of his touches, "My turn."

Still smirking, he leaned back, considering what exactly this would look like to the agents in the van. Maria ran her hands carefully over his body, checking for weapons or wires, shoulders to heels.  Finally stepping back she smirked at him, "No bugs, where’s my money?"

He waved his phone. "Where's my book?"

She looked down at his ankle and headed for the driver's side of her car, "You ready?"

For a moment he wavered, looking toward the van before meeting her eyes. "If I cut the anklet, they're going to be onto us. Think you can lose that van?”

"I've been chased by the Carabinieri, drug cartels in Bogota--"

"I get it, you're good," he said, holding a hand up before leaning down and snipping the anklet with a pair of cutters he'd brought just for the occasion.

She got into the car, waiting until he was in before pulling away and taking off, intent on losing the tail, "With all due respect, we could make quite a fine pair."

"With all due respect, shut up and drive," he replied.

She rolled her eyes and turned her attention to the road.

Shortly they ended up at a lake front, Mistoffelees getting back out. "Can I see it yet?"

She got out, going to the trunk of the car and opening it, "I can't believe I'm doing this.  I spent a long time looking for her..."

He snapped a pair of gloves on, taking the book, and looking through it to verify. "Guess it wasn't meant to be," he murmured, flipping pages.

"You satisfied?"

"Very," he said, closing the book and using his free hand on his phone, sending the money.

She pulled out her phone, "Ah, and there it is.  Thank you very much."

"Pleasure doing business with you," he said with a small bow, moving to leave.

"Mm.  You’ll never know how much of a pleasure it could have been," Maria responded, pulling a gun.

Mistoffelees' spine tensed, and he leaned back slightly. "You know, I had a feeling all the lovey-dovey stuff was bullshit."

"You should learn to trust your instincts."

"You know, you think I would have," he murmured, pulling something from his pocket. "But I did lift your clip with patting you down."

She cocked the gun, "You forgot the one in the chamber."

"I hate guns," he breathed, taking a step back and holding the book in front of his chest. "That still only gives you one bullet."

"That's all it takes," came the reply.  "Give me the book, Mistoffelees."

"No," he said, holding the book up. "Is this why you killed Paul?"

"He wanted the money and the book!"

"Yeah, that's what happens when you get greedy!"

She fired, the same second the FBI finally showed up on scene. Mistoffelees dropped.

Coricopat was out of the car, gun drawn in an instant, "Drop the gun!  Gun down, don't shoot.  Gun _down_ , hands behind your head!"  Maria followed his directions, swearing under her breath as she was cuffed.  Once he saw she was being dealt with, he holstered his weapon and rushed to Mistoffelees' side, "Mistoffelees?"

The shorter man blinked up at him. "Cutting it a little close there, aren't you?" he asked, holding the book in front of his chest still, were a bullet was lodged in the head of the saint on the cover.

Coricopat offered him a hand up, "Looks like someone had your back.  What did I say about getting shot?"

"I think you said not to," he said. "And I lifted the clip. So she only had one chance anyway."

The taller man shook his head, "One chance.  Great, that vastly improves the odds of her not hitting you."

"Still here, ain't I?" he asked, grin crooked.

"Because you have the best luck of anyone I've ever met."

"Maybe," Mistoffelees said, looking over as Barelli showed up on the scene. "But it's certainly proved useful."

"Well, I need to go run some interference."  Coricopat turned as Barelli approached, "How did you and your cub scouts find out about this?  NYPD?"

"I got one of those police scanners.  It's a hobby, ya know?"  The mobster’s gaze moved to where Maria was being put in a car, "She Paulie's shooter?  A lover's quarrel?"

"Just business," the agent replied.  "Hate to break it to you, your nephew decided to free lance behind your back."

"Sad," Ruiz remarked. "You can't trust family then who can you trust?"

Barelli ignored them, "If you guys're done, I'd like my bible back.  Mass starts in an hour."

Coricopat rolled his eyes, "Would it kill you to say thank you?  All right, give it to him, Mistoffelees."

"I don't have it," Mistoffelees said, looking between them.

"What do you mean you don't have it?"  Coricopat blinked at him, "You just had it in your hands."

"I handed it to an FBI agent," Mistoffelees said with a tiny shrug. "That's what I was supposed to do, right?"

Barelli scowled, "You think you can get it over on me?  You'll wish you were never born, pal."

"I'm getting that speech a lot lately," Mistoffelees replied, meeting the other's eyes.

"This ain't over," Barelli growled.

"Where is it, Caffrey?" Ruiz seethed. "Or I'll let Barelli give you a ride home."

Coricopat cut in, "I think I may know where it is." Mistoffelees took a shuddering breath at that threat from Ruiz, glancing over at Coricopat. "I'll take Mistoffelees with me, Barelli, you're welcome to follow."

Mistoffelees took a step closer to Coricopat, feeling tired and worn out and relieved when Barelli nodded his assent to that.

They pulled up in front of Barelli's church a short while later, Coricopat getting out and heading inside to find Steve there with Lucy and the bible.

Steve looked up and smiled serenely at all of them, petting his dog. Barelli strode in, his eyes narrowing, "Hey, pally.  What are you doing with my bible?"

"She would've died without it," the man explained.

"Not so fast.  You know who you're messing with?"

Coricopat's jaw tensed, "You've got the bible, Barelli.  Leave him alone."

"No.  I'm not about to let this go."  He stopped as Lucy got up and licked his hand, wagging her tail slowly.  His entire tough guy persona seemed to crumble and he knelt down, rubbing her ears, "Hey, sweet girl."

"Her name's Lucy," the veteran said proudly.

"Lucky Lucy, huh.  She don't look so good.  Whatsa matter with her?"

"She's been sick," Steve explained as Mistoffelees looked over at Coricopat. "Until today." The agent was staring at the scene, his brows raised.

Barelli rocked back on his heels before getting to his feet, "I got a vet over in Yonkers.  He saved my pugs from diabetes.  You wanna take a right and go see him?  Have her checked out."

"Kay," Steve said, nodding happily.

"Come on then," Barelli headed out to his car with Steve and Lucy, leaving a very confused Agent Zimmerman behind with Mistoffelees.

"We were giving the bible back," Mistoffelees said.

"I know."

"How'd you know?" the shorter man asked, tilting his head.

"Alright, I didn't.  But I took a leap of faith that you did the right thing."

"I told you it's a healing bible," Mistoffelees said with a charming grin.

"And here we go again..."  Coricopat shook his head, "Barelli's just a softie for dogs."

"Not enough smiting and lightning for you?" Mistoffelees asked with an arched brow.

"It's not a miracle.  No Red Sea was parted here."

"I'll take my miracles where I can get them," Mistoffelees replied.

"Right, well then you can call it a miracle if you're so inclined."  A couple of other agents arrived at that moment with a new tracking anklet for Mistoffelees.

Mistoffelees sighed, meeting Coricopat's eyes. "I didn't get shot, and I didn't run away. Are you taking that or is there still not enough smiting and lightning?"

Coricopat shrugged slightly, "I might take it if I didn't think you had a decent self-preservation streak."

Mistoffelees sighed and smirked. "Really now?"

"I like to think so, anyhow," he replied as one of the agents reattached the anklet.

Mistoffelees glanced down and back up. "Well, back to the ball and chain."

"Long chain," Coricopat reminded.  "Shall I take you back to Jenny's or the Bureau?"

"Is there a reason to go back to the Bureau?"

"Not that I can think of, for you.  I'll drop you at Jenny's on the way."

"Great," Mistoffelees murmured.

w-w-w-w

Later in the evening, Mistoffelees was turning the bottle at the table. Several candles lay around, lit to give the room a more romantic atmosphere.

Jerrie was stretched out on Mistoffelees' couch, asleep, Oscar curled up on his chest, his hands cradling the kitten.

As he was turning the bottle, one of the flame started heating up the paper. Slowly, lines started being revealed and he froze. "Jerrie!"

The redhead startled awake, "Let me see your warrant!"  He came fully awake as the alarmed kitten on his chest dug its claws in, "Ow, damnit.  What is it, Misto?"

The shorter man just arched a brow at him. "Come here, you," he said, gesturing. "Lemon juice and candle light."

Jerrie scooped up the kitten, smoothing Oscar's ruffled fur as he came over, "How did I miss this?"

"Weren't you ever a boy scout?"

"I got kicked out.  Pinewood derby, magnets.  It was a whole big thing."

 Mistoffelees gave him a sideways look. "I don't even want to know."

"It was a great race, but they figured it out.  Stopped doing things that'd get me caught after that.  So.  The bottle.  A map?"

"It's a map," Mistoffelees nodded. "New York City subway."

"Great, so you have a map of a huge subway system.  What good is that?"

"I don't know yet," he said, grinning up at his friend. "But I'm going to find out."

Jerrie offered him a ghost of a grin in response as he cradled the kitten a bit closer, still stroking its fur, "I'm sure you will."

Mistoffelees looked between the purring kitten and Jerrie. "Find allergy medication or something?"

Jerrie looked at the feline, "No," he was sounding a bit stuffy, "I'll be paying for this tomorrow."

"I'm glad you're getting along, seeing as you're here so often," Mistoffelees said, looking back at the bottle where he'd gotten the entire map exposed.

"I like the kitten.  We'll see if I like the cat."

That startled a laugh from Mistoffelees. "It's gonna be the same creature."

"Except with bigger teeth, bigger claws, and a bigger pelt to produce dander."

"I'm sure you'll be fine," Mistoffelees said as Oscar purred. The dark haired man was already distracted by the bottle again.

Jerrie finally sneezed, jolting the kitten slightly, "You're not allowed to ignore the kitten."

"I'm not?" Mistoffelees asked, not even looking over.

"No.  I'm allergic and I don't think the suit likes cats.  Jenny has the pug.  So you can't ignore him."

"I'm..." Mistoffelees frowned, looking up at Jerrie. "You make it sound like I'm abandoning him in an alley."

"I don't mean to sound like that, you just get...focused."

"Well, yeah," Mistoffelees said. "The kitten can survive a little while on his own."

Jerrie didn't look impressed, but he shrugged, "Alright."

"Here," Mistoffelees said, setting the bottle down and taking the kitten, who rubbed up under his chin. "Feel better?"

Jerrie nodded, "Yes, that's much better."

"Good," Mistoffelees said, kissing the top of Oscar's head when the kitten batted at his cheek.

"It's a cute cat."

"Yeah," Mistoffelees said, eyes straying to the bottle over the squirming ball of fur he still held.

 


	11. Your Almost Complete Disregard for Relationships

Jerrie looked around the bustling hub, frowning and carefully stepping out of the way of a few harried-looking businessmen, "So Pounce leaves you a bottle with a map and this is where it leads?  Grand Central Station?"  He looked anything but impressed, his green eyes darting about as he categorized the fastest routes _away_ from where they were standing.

 “Well, yes,” Mistoffelees said, adjusting the brim of his hat as he looked around, tracking the people walking around them. “Something I’d recognize, something that’s significant.”

"Significant?"  Jerrie gestured to the expanse and the crowd within it, "Misto, it's Grand Central Station!  How much more significant do you want?"

Mistoffelees gave him a long look. “I’d accept the statue of liberty too. Doesn’t matter though, it’s going to need to be familiar too.”

"He could have sent us anywhere, so he chooses the place that leads everywhere, really Misto?"  Jerrie just shook his head, his gaze skimming over people and shops in the station.

 “Jerrie,” Mistoffelees started, voice holding a hint of warning.

The redhead sighed but changed the subject, "Hey, so I hear there's a great oyster bar around here.  What say we go there when we find whatever got hidden in the center of the busiest hub in the New York rail system?"

Mistoffelees made a face, looking away. Once he was focused on something, the thought of food was an annoyance more than anything. “You can go if you like,” he said, eyes still scanning and stopping on an X on the side of the building. “Something might be up there.”

Jerrie's look grew even more incredulous, "X marks the spot?  Really?  Again?"

 “I never said liking the classics wasn’t a broken record,” Mistoffelees shrugged before scrambling up, balancing on the railing to feel around the edges of the metal plate with the X on it, finding a rolled sheet of paper in a small cubby underneath it.

Blinking, his friend moved over, "What do you know....anything useful written on it?"

Mistoffelees frowned at the note before carefully handing it over.

Jerrie read it quietly, "Dear Misto, heard you're looking for me.  Wish I could explain more, but time is not on our side.  But you need to stop looking.  No one could deny what we have, but it's over.  Please move on.  Pounce."  He scowled at the paper, "Didn't he send you here?  Of course you're looking for him."

 “That’s a lot of effort to make for ‘move on’ too,” Mistoffelees said with another deep frown.

"Kinda bipolar of him, if you ask me.  There's nothing else up there?"

Making a face Mistoffelees hoped up to balance on the railing again, poking around. “The thing is... the bottle would have had this map before I even got out of prison. So the note is saying that he heard I was looking for him based off the assumption that of course I would. The bastard.”

"Pretty much.  If there's nothing else up there I vote oysters and then some of Jenny's wine or something, alright?" Jerrie suggested.

Swearing when he found nothing, Mistoffelees hit the metal and winced, sliding back down. “Does it have to be oysters?”

"No, probably not, there's other things we could have too."

 “Okay,” Mistoffelees said after a moment, taking the note back and carefully folding it before putting it in the inside pocket of his suit jacket. Jerrie glanced at him and then started for the main exit out of Grand Central, considering somewhere nearby, but not in the hub, to eat.

w-w-w-w

The next morning found Mistoffelees outside on the balcony, a water color set to one side as he painted, trying to find some balance or calm in the painting. Coricopat entered the balcony from a door not attached to Mistoffelees' apartment, "Morning."

 “Hey,” Mistoffelees said, not looking up yet.

"Did you have a good weekend?"  He approached, considering the painting with a faint frown.

 “Just tell me you have a case,” Mistoffelees said, voice dangerous as he swirled the brush in the cup of water in front of him.

Coricopat's frown deepened at that, "So that's a no then.  We've got a stolen painting.  A Haustenberg."

 “Haustenberg?” Mistoffelees asked, glancing up and his eyes holding interest. “Was it a museum heist?”

"No.  Residential robbery.  We're due there shortly, so you'd better pack this up."

Mistoffelees’ eyebrows quirked up. “I’d like to meet the person who kept a Haustenberg on their mantel,” he said, quickly moving to cover the paints and rising.

Coricopat arched an eyebrow at that and turned to head downstairs to his waiting car. Moments later Mistoffelees joined him, fedora perched on his head. “How was your weekend then?”

"The same as last weekend was, and the same as next weekend will be.  Dinner with my sister though so that was a nice change," Coricopat answered, glancing at the smaller man.

 “God, don’t you ever get bored?” Mistoffelees muttered, propping his elbow on the car door and looking out the window.

"I like routine," came the answer that wasn't really an answer.

 “Sounds stifling,” Mistoffelees said.

"Well, I don't exactly have time for trips to grand central station every weekend, personally," Coricopat murmured, his eyes focused on the road.

Mistoffelees looked over at him slowly, unimpressed. “You have something against Grand Central Station?”

That earned him a glance, "No, but the Marshals have taken to calling me when they get nervous about your whereabouts and I don't really appreciate it."

 “Take it up with the Marshals then,” Mistoffelees said, rolling his shoulders.

"What were you doing there this weekend, Mistoffelees?"

 “Going out to lunch, Jerrie likes that Oyster place there,” Mistoffelees said slowly. “What, did you think I was plotting to run away?”

"I never know what you're thinking," Coricopat murmured, trying not to let his distaste with that creep into his voice.

Mistoffelees gave him another long look. “And that bothers the hell out of you, doesn’t it?”

"I don't know what a lot of people are thinking, so no."  Alright, that was a blatant lie.  There were reasons he was in charge of the White Collar division, and why he'd been offered Organized Crime for several years and part of it had to do with his ability to read people.  Mistoffelees was more an exception than a rule and Coricopat very much was not going to consider the why of that, since he usually only couldn't read someone when he was distracted or his emotions were off-kilter for some reason, which he supposed fell under distracted.

Mistoffelees blinked at him. “You--” he bit back his next comment about what a blatant lie that was. “Really now?”

Coricopat rolled a shoulder, "Often, yes.  Now, what can /you/ tell me about Haustenberg's work?"  Not the smoothest topic change, but it was something.

Huffing, Mistoffelees leant against the back of the seat, crossing his arm. “He’s rare, which means it’s going to be really valuable. Not many of his works made it out of Hungary after the war.”

"Valuable is putting it mildly.  The owner had it appraised for two million and change a couple years ago," Coricopat responded.

 “Jesus,” Mistoffelees let out a whistle. “What’s this one even called?”

"Young Girl with Locket."

Mistoffelees frowned. “Never heard of that one. Is there a photograph?”

"Not that we've seen yet... but I bet you it's a painting of a young girl wearing a locket."  Coricopat replied dryly.

 “You don’t get enough credit for your deductive skills,” Mistoffelees drawled, venom in his voice.

The FBI agent blinked once at that, before turning his head to actually look at Mistoffelees--taking advantage of a red light, "What's bit you today?"

 “Nothing,” Mistoffelees muttered, looking out the window instead. “It was just a bad night.”

Coricopat looked skeptical, but shook his head and turned his attention back to the road.  He pulled the car to a stop a few blocks further up and got out, "Here we are."

Getting out of the car quickly, Mistoffelees looked up at the house, and whistled. “That’s a hell of a place.”

The brunet nodded, "Probably just as impressive inside."  He made his way up the front steps and knocked on the door.

The door opened and a pretty young blond looked at them, "Oh, hi.  You are?"

"Agent Coricopat Zimmerman, FBI, this is Mistoffelees.  You're the homeowner?"

She nodded, "Julianna.  My parents are dead, I'm over twenty-one, and I was robbed.  Any other questions?"  She let them in and started for the stairs.

"Was the painting insured?"  Coricopat asked, following her.

"No."

 “It’s an expensive painting not to insure it, at two point six million dollars,” Mistoffelees remarked, eyes scooping out the house as they were allowed in before resting on the blonde girl and giving her a charming grin.

She glanced at him, offering a faint smile, but didn't comment on the insurance.  Entering a room at the top of the stairs she pointed to a place over the mantle, "That's where it was.  Tuesdays I have classes...the instructor let us out early.  I came in here and there was this...well, monster I guess, and he shoved me up against the wall."

Coricopat's grey eyes lit with concern at that, "He hurt you?"

"Yeah.  I hit him in the face and he said if I did it again, he'd kill me."

Mistoffelees looked angry for a moment at the idea of someone bigger hitting her. “So what did you do?”

She shrugged, offering another faint smile, "I hit him again."

Coricopat managed to hide his expression at that, "Do you have a photo of the painting?  Your report only gave a description."

"Umm...Yes, I think I do actually."

 “It would be very helpful,” Mistoffelees said, considering where the painting was as an older man walked down the stairs.

“Can I help you?” he asked, voice cold.

Julianna looked up, "Oh, it's okay, Gary.  It's the FBI.  They're here about the painting."

 “Oh, of course,” her uncle said, eyes not becoming any less cold at all. “Thank you for coming so quickly.”

Coricopat considered the man for a long moment before nodding, "Of course.  Were you here when it happened?"

 “No, I was at work. I wish I could help more,” he said, looking between them and leaving the room.

“Great,” Mistoffelees muttered.

Coricopat glanced at him, murmuring, "Inside job?"

 “The thief had to know her schedule and nothing else was taken,” Mistoffelees said softly. “So, yeah. It’s the most likely.”

"That's what I was thinking,"  he glanced from Julianna to where Gary had gone, "Help her with that photo."  He straightened and headed for the other room, "Gary, I have a few questions."

Gary nodded from where he was a flight of stairs down on the landing, finishing his phone call.

Mistoffelees slipped over to the young woman. “So, Gary is your...?”

"Uncle," she answered, handing the photo she'd found over.

Mistoffelees’ eyebrows shot up. “Oh my god,” he said softly, turning the picture over to get a better look at it. “She’s gorgeous.”

Julianna smiled at that, "That's my grandmother.  And the painting's behind her, it's the best one we have of it."

 “It’s a lovely painting too,” Mistoffelees said, looking up and grinning at her.

She blushed faintly at that grin, "It really is.  It meant a lot to her, and so, frankly means a lot to me.  I was named after her...and well, she raised me.  Left me the house, and the painting, when she died."

 “She sounds amazing,” Mistoffelees said, actually meaning it. “But what did your uncle Gary think of you getting the painting and the house?”

Julianna's expression shuttered a bit at that, "You don't look like an FBI agent."

 “I’ll take that as a compliment,” Mistoffelees said, a hint of flirting in his voice. “What’s an FBI agent supposed to look like then?”

She glanced up as Coricopat approached, "Him."

The agent arched a brow at that, "Got the photo?"

Mistoffelees nodded, handing him the photo before turning back to Julianna. “You’re right, he really does.”

Coricopat frowned slightly at that, "Alright, well, we have to get back to the office.  We'll be in touch, miss."

 “Thank you for your time,” Mistoffelees said.

Julianna nodded, "Thanks for coming."

Nodding once in acknowledgement, Coricopat turned and made his way down the stairs.

Mistoffelees followed him, waiting until they were out of the house. “So what was Gary like?” he asked, trying to focus on professionalism and not what they’d been talking about earlier.

"I've never seen someone lawyer up that fast."  Coricopat shook his head, "I've got that he's a trader on Wall Street, and that his attorney will answer any further questions."

Mistoffelees sighed. “That doesn’t look suspicious at all. So, we thinking he tips off the thief and splits the take?”

"More likely Uncle Gary owes money to somebody.  And he got tired of staring at two million bucks hanging on the wall.  Now, he shuts up, we do this the hard way," Coricopat sighed.  "God I hate lawyers."

“So what do we need from him?” Mistoffelees asked. “And, really? Because, all I can imagine is you as a lawyer in another life. I mean, really.”

"Really.  I studied accounting before Quantico.  What we need is the name of the guy he's working with, but we won't get that at this rate.  Not with him lawyered up."

 “I could talk to him,” Mistoffelees shrugged.

That earned an arched brow, "You?"

 “What’s wrong with me? I’m a consultant and not technically employee of the FBI--”

"A consultant on a tenuous probation," Coricopat said, shaking his head slightly.

 “As you people make sure to constantly remind me,” Mistoffelees snapped, his temper coming back. His fingers twitched to tear up the note he found yesterday, but he knew if he did he would only tape the damn thing back together carefully later.

Coricopat sighed, "Look, you can talk to him, but you can't threaten him.  And you can't lie to him."

 “I have no intention of doing either,” Mistoffelees said, looking away again.

Grey eyes scoped over him, "Look, I'm sorry.  If you want to talk to him though, now's your best chance."  He nodded across the street where Gary's car was parked.

Mistoffelees waved the apology off, line of his shoulders brittle as he walked across the street. Except by the time he ended up next to Gary his entire posture had relaxed, smoothing out into the con.

Coricopat watched him quietly, leaning against his own car. Gary startled as Mistoffelees appeared.

 “So tell me, Gary,” Mistoffelees said, entirely conversational. “Does Julianna know you helped steal her painting?”

"You can’t be here." The man started, "My lawyer was very clear."

 “Alright, first of all, hiring a lawyer makes you look guilty as hell,” Mistoffelees informed him.

"He told me specifically not to talk to the FBI."

 “I’m sorry,” Mistoffelees said, dropping a hint of distain into his voice. “Do I look like an FBI agent?”

Gary's eyes swept over him quickly before widening, "Who are you?"

Mistoffelees barely suppressed a well acted eye roll. “Think hard, Gary.”

The man paled, "Did he send you?"

 “What do you think?” Mistoffelees snorted.

"God, I knew this would happen."  His gaze darted around the street, "What, the whole thing at the house was a setup?"

Mistoffelees really did roll his eyes. “God. Why do I have to work with such idiots? And now it’s gone entirely work. Julianna wasn’t supposed to be there and now she’s a damned witness.”

"Her class got out early." He paled, "Please don't hurt her."

Mistoffelees clicked his tongue. “It’s really not me you need to convince.”

"Tell-tell him I'll make sure she doesn't cause any trouble."

 “She’s perfectly willing to sit with a sketch artist, the whole helpful thing,” Mistoffelees shook his head. “Stuff like this makes it much harder for anyone to sell that painting.”

Gary paled, "How about..." he dug out his wallet and pulled out what he had in it, "How about a good faith payment.  I have, um...three hundred dollars, it's all I've got right now."

 “Gary,” Mistoffelees shook his head.

"Alright, you're right...um.  Can-can I write him a check?"

Mistoffelees’ eyebrows quirked up. “That could work,” he said, voice barely neutral.

Gary scrambled to locate his checkbook and wrote it out, signing it quickly and handing it over, "Tell him I'll keep her from sitting with that artist."

 “I’ll pass it along,” Mistoffelees said, trying not to let his eyes light up too much as he took the check. “I’m sure he’ll keep in touch.” The man paled, but finally got in his car and pulled away from the curb quickly.

Mistoffelees grinned at the check, carefully making his way back to Coricopat, holding the check out. “We’ll have to call this a gray area.”

Coricopat's brows rose as he agreed, "We'll call it a gray area.  Did he really write you a personal check to the guy he helped steal his mother's painting?"

 “He truly did,” Mistoffelees said, a laugh bubbling in his chest and still looking like he couldn’t believe it.

The agent smiled, taking the check and the expression quickly vanishing, "Gerard Dorsett.  Great."

 “Let me guess,” Mistoffelees drawled. “He’s a bad guy.”

"To put him mildly," Coricopat answered as he got into the car.

 “Then let’s catch him before he figures out we’re talking to Julianna,” Mistoffelees said, sliding into the car.

Coricopat nodded once, pulling away and heading for headquarters.

w-w-w-w

Macavity glanced at Mistoffelees and Coricopat over some security footage he was going through. “How do you two always pick out the worst bastards from the pile?” he asked, shaking his head. “Good news is we totally got him, and have been sitting on him for a couple days. He’s been to every high end gallery in Manhattan offering the Haustenberg.”

Coricopat moved over and looked at the security footage, "We pick them up because they decide to dabble in our area.  Who's the big guy?"

 “That would be your muscle that stole the painting,” Macavity said, frowning at the tape again. “He’s ex-military, Joshua I think.”

Mistoffelees scowled. “Julianna wasn’t kidding about the punch,” he said and tried not to be impressed that she would have hit someone so much bigger.

Coricopat nodded, "She's got an arm.  And that's Dorsett there..."

 “Who is this guy anyway?” Mistoffelees asked, looking over at Coricopat and ignoring Macavity.

"High end loan sharking.  Although calling him a loan shark is like calling Oedipus a mama's boy.  He makes questionable loans with big, corporate money.  Get behind on your payment, he'll fire bomb your office," the lead agent replied, his gaze moving to the bullpen before darting back to Macavity.  "Has anyone called Tant yet in regards to the painting?"

"They called me twenty minutes ago, Cori," a brunette, dressed in a dark blue skirt suit and her features and build a feminine reflection of the lead agent, entered the conference room.  "How does it come about that you always end up with these masterpieces stolen on your watch?"

 “He has a talent,” Mistoffelees said, eyes tracking over her once and Macavity snorted.

“Yes, Cor, we called your sister in. Is everyone going to play nice now?”

"We always play nice," Coricopat responded, glancing back at his sister.  "Masterpieces?  Really?  You haven't even seen the art yet?"

"Every work has its own merit, and this one's been being offered for far less than it's worth over the last few days,"  Tantomile replied, her gaze moving to the glass wall of the conference room.

"Which makes it a masterpiece?"  her brother didn't look impressed.

"Which makes it something they want to move fast.  Which makes it recognizable.  Which means it's got an identifying characteristic or something in its history.  Or they have no idea what they have.  You know all of this, Cori."

Mistoffelees blinked between them and Macavity quite suddenly decided to focus on something else. “So... that all means what exactly?” he asked. “Beyond that there’s a priceless painting out there trying to be sold quickly?”

"It means," Tant said, pulling her full attention back to the others in the conference room, "That it's possible to put the right word in the right ear about a wealthy client interested in the painting."

"How much is Dorsett asking for?"  Coricopat leaned against the table, watching his sister.

"Hundred grand."

 “That’s less than half the value,” Mistoffelees said with a tiny frown. “That’s just stupid.”

"Like I said, he's trying to move it."

"Or he doesn't know how much it's worth," Coricopat remarked.

 “That’s more likely,” Mistoffelees said. “The thing is, most criminals really want their money’s worth or there’s no point in going through the trouble of stealing something in the first place.”

"Well, it's not going to matter much if we don't get a meeting with him before another buyer does," Coricopat murmured.

Tantomile nodded, "Which is why I took the liberty of letting him know I have a client for him."

"You did _what_?"  her brother snapped, grey eyes wide.

 “Um, if you’re related to him,” Mistoffelees said, pointing to Coricopat. “Wouldn’t he recognize your name and be suspicious?”

"Did I say that I was the one who was actually meeting him with a client?  I played the part of a secretary for a friend of mine who you've worked with before, Cori.  You remember Taryn?"  Tant glanced from Mistoffelees to Coricopat.

"Taryn?  Really?"  The lead agent sighed, "She's good, I'll give her that.  When did you arrange it?"

"Tomorrow.  Gives you time to brief Taryn and to figure out who's playing the part of the client."

 “Client?” Mistoffelees asked, glancing up at them. “What sort of client?”

Coricopat looked Mistoffelees over, "Someone who knows art, and has a desire for it that wouldn't look like they'd mind dealing under the table a bit."

Mistoffelees blinked at him. “Oh. Right. Let me guess?”

Tant's brows shot up, "Coricopat Zimmerman, you can't be serious?"

"Tant, darling sister, you're here to consult, not to second-guess my decisions."

Eyes going to Tantomile, Mistoffelees blinked at her. “You know, you’re shit at introductions, right?” he said, glancing back to Cori.

Coricopat blinked once, "Oh, right.  Mistoffelees, my sister Tantomile, Tant this is Mistoffelees."

She extended her hand with a thin smile, "So you've mentioned before."

 “We’ve never met before,” Mistoffelees said, smiling and taking the hand.

Tant shook her head, "No, but you're the man who kept my brother out late every night four years ago."

Coricoapt drew a breath, "Tantomile, play nice with my consultant."

 “Personally, I find your brother should be kept out late more often,” Mistoffelees said and barely managed not to wince once the words were out. “Otherwise he’d have no life.”

A slight smile curled the corners of Tantomile's lips, "Perhaps, but that implies that his staying out late has nothing to do with work."

Mistoffelees grinned. “Well, or he could learn to multitask.”

"Coricopat?  Multitask?"

"Standing right here, and if neither of you are going to be productive, Tant, you can be on your way, and Mistoffelees, I can find work for you," the lead agent spoke up.

 “I think this is perfectly productive,” Mistoffelees said, glancing at Coricopat.

"She's not going to tell you anything more than I already have," came the response as Coricopat turned to look at the surveillance photos that were spread out on the table.

 “Who said I was looking for information?” Mistoffelees started as Bombalurina stepped in.

“Here boss,” she said, tossing some more surveillance photos on the table. “Hey babe,” she added, leaning over to kiss Tantomile lightly. “Will you be home for dinner tonight?” Mistoffelees’ jaw dropped.

Tantomile returned the kiss briefly before nodding, "If I head back to the gallery now, I should be able to be home by then.  Question is, will you?"

Coricopat took the photos without so much as glancing up, adding them in and considering what the combined stills told him. Mistoffelees turned a frosty glare on Coricopat when Bomba smiled. “Should be, barring any of those circumstances that always seem to crop up.”

Tantomile turned to her brother, "Coricopat?"

He glanced up at her finally, blinking when he caught Mistoffelees' look out of the corner of his eye, "Yes?"

"You'll see that she's home for dinner right?"

"I'll do my best."

"Cori,” she said, one of her eyebrows arching sharply

Smiling thinly at his sister, Coricopat inclined his head, "Of course, I'll make sure she's home."

 “You’re not supposed to pressure my boss like that, sweetie,” Bomba laughed, shaking her head. “Cor, you good here for files?”

"Yes, Bomba, I'm good here for files."

Tant smiled at that, "But it's so easy."  She trailed a hand across Bomba's stomach as she headed for the door, "I should get back to the gallery and let Taryn know that you want her here in the morning."

Bomba grinned after her. “She’s not the type to scare easy, is she?”

Tant paused at the door, glancing over her shoulder and smirking, "Would I have suggested her if she was?"

Bomba laughed again, blowing her a kiss. “See you tonight.”

Waving over her shoulder, Tantomile made her way down the stairs, across the bullpen, and out of the FBI offices.

Mistoffelees scowled as Bomba slipped back out to finish dealing with her own files. “How did I not know that?”

“Cos Tant’s never been to the office since you’ve been here?” Macavity offered.

"I told you I knew Bomba's lover," Coricopat remarked, setting aside some of the photos and picking up another file.

 “That’s not the same as mentioning, oh by the way my sister’s girlfriend happens to work for me too,” Mistoffelees said, on edge for not knowing.

Grey eyes rose to look at him finally, "I didn't see that as relevant."

 “You wouldn’t, would you?” Mistoffelees said and it was bitter enough even Macavity looked back up.

Coricopat blinked at him for a long moment, "It's my sister's private life, excuse me for being protective of it."

 “Right,” Mistoffelees said, looking away. “It would have little to do with your almost complete disregard for relationships.”

"What?" the taller man just stared at him.

 “Nothing. What do I need to know about posing as the client?” Coricopat looked skeptical about that, but shook his head and explained what would be expected the next day.


	12. Hey Keeper

That evening, Mistoffelees found himself back at Grand Central Station, already rehearsing mentally the conversation that was sure to follow with Coricopat for being there again.

He’d claim the oysters were just that good.

Sighing, and shoving his hands into his coat pockets again, Mistoffelees looked around. He couldn’t help but want to find anything that could give him information on where Pounce was, or why the whole cryptic chase to only tell him to move on.

Pounce had been pretty sure Mistoffelees would be chasing him after all.

He stopped where the cubby that had held the note was, trying again to figure out when it had been left there. Was Pounce even in town anymore? He stood there another minute before perching on the railing, checking the hole again and widening his eyes when another note was there.

Pulling the note out, he looked at the few words. HERE. FRIDAY. NOON. Since it hadn’t been there that weekend, there was no other Friday it could have been.

He felt a crooked grin inch across his face for the first time all week.

w-w-w-w

The next day found him at the gallery with Coricopat who was frowning at one of the exhibits.

 “What?” Mistoffelees asked, more relaxed then he had been for several days. “What did the bad art do to you?”

"I will never understand the allure of what equates in most peoples' eyes as a load of laundry.  What makes it art?"

 “It means something, even if it doesn’t mean something to everyone,” Mistoffelees shrugged. “Sometimes making the mundane art makes it beautiful and it makes people happy. Haven’t you ever read Joyce’s the Dubliners?”

"Yes, I read it.  It doesn't mean I agree with calling a pile of towels art," Coricopat answered.

 “It’s the same principle,” Mistoffelees shrugged. “Make the everyday art and it’s more bearable. Besides, that pile just sold for a hundred and twenty thousand.”

"It sold for _what_?"  the agent's brows rose sharply at that.

 “You can’t put a price on art,” Mistoffelees said, smiling crookedly.

Coricopat glanced at him, returning the smile, though an eyebrow arched at the shift in Mistoffelees' mood from how snappish he'd been since Monday, "No.  Which is why I think two point six is a little steep for the Haustenberg."

 “You don’t like Haustenberg?” Mistoffelees asked, actually sounding insulted on the artist’s behalf.

Shrugging, the agent admitted, "I don't know.  It's a little, I suppose cartoony's the closest word, for my taste."

 “You, you,” Mistoffelees sputtered. “Cartoony?” he practically yelped. “You’re a damned philistine is what you are.”

"I don't like his work." Coricopat leapt to his own defense, "I prefer artists like Degas.  And Monet, I do like Monet."

Mistoffelees blinked once, thinking about how many times he’d painted out a Monet scene to calm his mind and quietly decided he should find a new artist to work on. “Well, Monet’s nice,” he said, tone shutting off.

Coricopat's brow arched again, but he didn't have the chance to say anything as one of the agents approached with Tant's friend Taryn to let them know they were set and it was time for Taryn and Mistoffelees to get wired. Glancing once more at Coricopat, Mistoffelees followed the art dealer quickly.

Taryn glanced at him, they'd been introduced a few hours earlier, "A hundred grand in cash.  That's a lot of money.  Tempted?"

Mistoffelees looked taken aback as he put the wire under his shirt. “Um, why would you think that?”

"Tant warned me about you," she answered, getting her own wire on and hidden away.

 “That sounds ominous,” Mistoffelees said before turning a blinding grin on her. “What did she warn you about?”

Taryn arched a brow at him as she smoothed out her blouse, "Is is true you just got out of prison?"

 “Do I look like I just got out of prison?” he asked with a laugh.

"Redirection, nice," she checked her appearance in a compact before snapping it shut and heading to the part of the gallery where they were set for the exchange.

Mistoffelees rolled his eyes. “I excel at redirection around most people,” he said, trailing after her with his hands shoved in his pants pockets. “So, yes, I got out of prison, yes, Agent Zimmerman’s the one who put me there, and of course I’m tempted,” he said, adding a bit of a purr to his voice, as if questioning whether the money tempted him or the woman.

Taryn smirked at him at that tone, but asked her question anyway, "Is it true you escaped for your lover?"

 “Some people think I’m a romantic,” Mistoffelees said, smiling again.

"Really now? Did your lover?"

Mistoffelees thought about the note he’d found. “I’ll let you know,” he said, the honest hurt in his voice surprising him.

Taryn glanced at him and almost said something further, but Dorsett and his second arrived at that moment.

Mistoffelees took a step back, smiling at them. “Good to see you again,” Dorsett said, taking Taryn’s hand and shaking it. He was a small man, full of sharp angles and well pressed clothing.

Taryn offered him a smile, "Good to see you as well.  As I said on the phone, this is Mr. Devore."

 “Feel free to call me George,” Mistoffelees said, holding his hand out and grinning as the other man shook it.

Taryn stepped back, "If you gentlemen will follow me, we'll take a look at the art."

The three of them followed her, Joshua setting the case with the painting in front of Mistoffelees. Snapping it open, he carefully lifted the painting, considering it. “It’s smaller than I expected,” Mistoffelees said, even though his eyes lit up just beholding it.

“Have you seen the Mona Lisa?” Dorsett snorted. “It’s tiny.”

Reaching over and carefully taking the painting from Mistoffelees, Taryn glanced between the men, "I'd like to authenticate it."

They both watched her before Dorsett turned back to Mistoffelees. “So, George,” he said, conversationally. “You two have known each other a long time?”

Taryn spoke from where she'd started working, "We've been friends for I don't know, how long's it been?"

 “Years,” Mistoffelees said, brushing it aside as if it meant nothing, was just a fact.

“Beautiful people are never just friends,” Dorsett laughed and Mistoffelees felt his gut twist.

"George has a girlfriend," Taryn said simply, locating her lights for authenticating the paint.

 “Boyfriend, actually,” Mistoffelees said, glancing at Taryn. “The girlfriend dumped me recently.”

“Doesn’t take long for you to move on then.” Dorsett just laughed. “Besides, monogamy is the great causality of beauty,” he said.

“Not always,” Mistoffelees said, trying to sound mild.

“Please, Dorsett rolled his eyes. “We use the expression butterfly for a man who flits from flower to flower. A man such as you would be a most successful butterfly.”

“We consider butterflies weak, delicate creatures,” Mistoffelees replied.

Dorsett laughed again. “But flap their wings and they can set off hurricanes.”

“That’s beautiful, you should write a book,” Mistoffelees deadpanned, barely keeping a leash on his temper.

Taryn glanced between the two men, "Close the doors, please."

Joshua went to do as commanded as Dorsett kept watching Mistoffelees. “I have a girlfriend myself,” he said, still conversational.

“She faithful?” Mistoffelees asked, the edge of a bite in his question.

Dorsett laughed. “She’s French. I try not to think about it. Brigitte arrived last night and I shouldn’t leave her alone in a new town for too long. If we could hurry?”

"Of course," Taryn murmured obligingly.  "Light's please."  Once the room was dark she looked the painting over, "I've got fluoresce, cadmium green, and azure blue.  That puts the pint composition pre-1960."

 “Excellent,” Mistoffelees said and suddenly Dorsett pulled a gun. “What in the hell?” he managed. “A gun? _Really_?”

“Perhaps you could explain why there are people signaling to each other outside,” Dorsett said, voice as conversational as it was before he pulled the gun.

Outside in the surveillance van, Coricopat tensed, "Goddamnit.  Everybody, hold your positions."

 “Are you sure you don’t want us to go in?” Bomba asked, glancing at him.

"We can't risk it," he murmured.

 “Who are they?” Dorsett demanded, gesturing with the gun back in the room.

“If you brought the FBI into this...” Mistoffelees snapped, warning.

“It was no me!” he protested loudly.

"I told you to keep a low profile," Taryn's eyes darted to Dorsett, narrowing as they did so.

 “You were careless,” Mistoffelees seethed. “Flashing the painting all over town, of course they found you!”

“Something’s not right here,” Doresett growled, looking between them.

“You’re damn right it’s not,” Mistoffelees snarled.

Dorsett scowled, grabbing both the painting and the money. “For my time and inconvenience,” he said and bolted.

Coricopat swore from the van, "Damn it, go, go move in now!  Team one, team two, alpha brava's exiting the rear of the building, move in."  He was out of the van and on his way toward the gallery as he spoke, "Go, follow Hollister!"  He reached the gallery and entered the room where Mistoffelees and Taryn were, "You okay?"

Taryn nodded, "We're fine."

Mistoffelees nodded, looking pale. “Yeah. Fine.”

He offered them a slightly apologetic glance as he turned to the agent who'd entered on his heels.  "Arrest them.  We need to keep their cover.  Cuff them, read them their right, everything."  He turned his attention to his radio, "Where are they?"

 “Disappeared between the buildings,” the person on the other side of the radio said.

Mistoffelees looked panicked as one of the agents went through the process of arresting them, though he bit it down.

“No eyes either,” Macavity added. “All we got were some dropped clothing. They switched.”

"Damn it."  Coricopat glanced at Mistoffelees, hesitating.

Taryn looked to the forger, offering him faint, but hopefully reassuring smile, "Things always this interesting when you're around?"

 “You could say that,” Mistoffelees replied, mustering up a grin.

"Get them back to HQ," Coricopat instructed Bomba when he finally spotted her.  "Make it look official until you walk through those doors, got it?" Nodding, she took them both away.

Coricopat ran a hand through his hair before getting things wrapped up or delegated at the scene and following them back to the offices.

w-w-w-w

Grids looked t the two men at the table with her.  She'd managed to convince both her husband and Coricopat to join her for lunch and was currently shaking her head at the both of them, "So how upset were they that you los the hundred grand?"

 “Upset is probably an understatement,” Macavity muttered into the pasta.

"They've started an administrative inquiry already," Coricopat sighed, picking at his own food.  "Everything will be fine if we recover it.... _when_ we recover it." He corrected himself at Griddlebone's look.

 “The good news is that it wasn’t Mistoffelees who took it,” Macavity said, shaking his head and laughing at what to him was supposed to be a joke.

"This is progress," Coricopat muttered.

Grids rolled her eyes skyward, "Do you think he actually had anything to do with it?"

"No." The lead agent admitted, "But that's the thing about Mistoffelees.  Nothing is ever what it seems.  He's a contradiction."

 “Is he?” Macavity asked. “I mean, he’s not straight forward, but I don’t think he actually goes so far as to contradict himself either.”

"Still hung up on Pouncival and yet still flirting with everything that moves?"  Coricopat arched n eyebrow skeptically.

 “Alright, point,” Macavity said and paused. “Well, at least he flirts with all the _pretty_ things that move.”

Grids looked between them and shook her head, "I suddenly understand so very much why he never smiles at you two."

 “Um, what?” Macavity blinked in confusion, looking at his wife. “He smiles _all_ the time. I mean, all the time. Even when he shouldn’t.”

"That's exactly it though.  He never smiles.  Or very rarely does.  I don't mean his 'I'm going to smile til you think I'm crazy or that everything's okay whichever comes first' smile, but his 'I actually think that was funny, or adorable, or sweet, or maybe I'm just happy with life for once' smile."

Coricopat arched an eyebrow, "He has gradients of smiles?"

"Oh for the love of— _yes,_ " Griddlebone snapped.

 “And...” Macavity considered. “You’re saying he never really smiles at us?”

"Ever that I've seen," she answered.

 “So, not even touching on how you pick up on this and we haven’t,” Macavity said, propping his elbows on the table and considering. “What’s his real smile look like?”

"I..." She considered how to explain it, "Crooked.  It's a little off-center, the right side of his mouth quirks up a bit higher than the left, and it's not a grin."

Macavity considered. “Huh,” he said, and glanced over at Coricopat. “You ever notice that one?”

Coricopat sought through his memory banks before nodding, "Today.  We were talking about how you can't put a price tag on art."

Grids blinked at that, "He actually smiled at you?"

 “Well, it’s art, isn’t that like his passion?” Macavity shrugged, ready to dismiss it at just that.

Nodding very slightly to both points, Coricopat turned his attention back to his food.  Grids wasn’t inclined to actually let that go, "Have you seen that look when he talks about art before?"

Cori gave her a long look before murmuring a negative response.

Macavity gave his wife a wary look. “So?”

She shrugged, "I don't know yet."

Macavity really looked like he didn’t believe his wife in the least. “Really now?” he pressed gently, knowing better.

"He only gives that smile when he's relaxed and feels safe.  I haven’t ever seen it outside of our house, honestly," she admitted.

 “Okay, actually, now I’m worried,” Macavity muttered into his food.

Grids nodded once, though Coricopat had quickly done his best to ignore them both rather than deal with what that might mean.

Macavity poked him with the blunt edge of his fork. “Hey, keeper. What’s got your tongue?”

Coricopat startled slightly at that, "What?"

 “We’re talking about your little consultant,” Macavity replied.

"I had noticed that, Mac, yes."  Coricopat muttered, "Anything particular you want me to say?"

 “I don’t know,” the larger shrugged. “You’re the one he smiled at.” His tone was at the edge of teasing, but he still carefully watched his friend, unsure if he wanted a real answer or not.

"And that was the end of it.  He smiled, I said I didn't care for Haustenberg and Taryn came in."

Glancing at his wife, Macavity frowned. “Right. And then Taryn came in.”

Grids met her husband’s eyes and shook her head with a soft sigh.  Coricopat's grey eyes snapped up to them, "Yes.  That's what I said."

Macavity shrugged. “When do we need to be back at the office?” he asked, changing the subject rather than answering.

His boss checked the time, "Fifteen minutes, so should probably start heading back."

Macavity leaned over, kissing his wife. “Thanks for the food, and advice,” he said, smiling at her as he drew back.

She returned the smile, "Anytime you two.  Mac, you'll be home tonight, right?"

 “Do my best,” he promised, kissing her again, slower this time. “You  might even consider cooking dinner.”

Grids kissed him back, "I'll consider it.  Love you."

w-w-w-w

Coricopat stepped off the elevator, glancing at Mistoffelees, "Taryn seemed to like you yesterday."

Mistoffelees blinked once, adjusting his hat. “Well, yeah. Are you surprised?”

"Not really, but have you ever had a girl _not_?"

Considering, Mistoffelees tilted his head. “Brittney. Brittney Nicole. In second grade.”

Coricopat arched an eyebrow, "Second grade?  Really?"

 “It was second grade,” Mistoffelees shrugged. “Had a gap in my teeth back then too,” he gave Coricopat a long look. “Now, if you were asking if I ever had a _guy_ not...”

"I don't remember asking that," Coricopat answered.  "But if you're interested in confessing that one..."

Hesitating, Mistoffelees looked at him a long moment. “I seem to recall you being rather charmed by me the first time we met.”

The agent blinked at that, "I don't know if charmed is quite the right term."

Mistoffelees laughed. “I handed you a sucker and charmed you out of your socks.”

The corner of Coricopat's lips quirked up, "You may have charmed me a little, alright."  No way in hell was he admitting that he still had that sucker.

 “Just a little?” Mistoffelees asked, smiling and tilting his body ever so slightly toward Coricopat. Anyone else would probably have missed it.

"A little," Coricopat agreed, smiling truly.  "There was something charming about you that day."

 “Am I missing that charm today?”

"I wouldn't go so far as to say that, but that charm comes with questions now."

 “Questions?” Mistoffelees asked, taking half a step back.

Coricopat shrugged slightly, not caring for the fact that he'd changed the tone of the moment, "Well, I didn't know who you were then."

 “I suppose that’s true,” Mistoffelees said, taking another half step away. “And now that you do, it’s less charming?”

"I didn't say that, did I?" the agent's expression shifted into a faint frown.

Rolling his shoulder, Mistoffelees tilted his head. “Implied, more like I suppose.”

"No, you're no less charming.  I just wonder about it a little more, is all," Coricopat answered.

Suddenly wanting out of the conversation, Mistoffelees glanced around. “So what’s the schedule for today then, boss?”

Coricopat sighed softly, but nodded toward the conference room, "The curator from the Channing museum is here."

That got Mistoffelees to pause. “Say what?”

"He's here about the Haustenberg.  Supposedly it belongs to them."  Starting for the stairs, the lead agent paused to glance back, "Lose the hat, please." Mistoffelees scowled, pushing the hat further down on his head, though he took it off once they entered the conference room.

Coricopat entered, shaking hands with the curator, but not introducing Mistoffelees yet.  He sat down across the table from the man, "How come we're only hearing about the theft now? Why didn't you report it missing?"

The man looked at him disapprovingly, "We did.  When it was stolen in 1967."

 “I have a question,” Mistoffelees said, waving an arm the moment he’d sat down and Bomba shot him a warning look. “The painting was stolen in 1967 but it’s not listed on the art loss registry.”

"The registry was established in 1990," the curator replied.

 “91, actually,” Mistoffelees said, looking at him in distaste. “You could’ve refilled the claim.”

"I'm sorry, you are who?" the curator demanded, eyes narrowing and Mistoffelees gave him a cheeky smile.

Coricopat stepped in, "Mistoffelees Caffrey.  He's one of our art consultants."

The man's lip curled, "Caffrey.  Not familiar with that name.  Are you an expert on Haustenberg then?"

 “All the late European post-impressionists,” Mistoffelees said, voice too sweet and even Macavity picked up on the undercurrent of dislike flowing between him and the curator.

"I authenticated Young Girl With Locket myself when it first entered our collection. You agree it's an excellent work.  A bit sentimental for my taste, but the Matisse influence is apparent," the curator spoke, planning to catch the other in an error if he could.

 “Well,” Mistoffelees said, slowly. “Considering Matisse was a fauvist, I would hardly agree with that at all. Unless you’re talking about his earlier work, which I don’t think you are, and if you are, you’re just wrong.”

Coricopat cut in before the curator could reply, "We have reason to believe that this was taken in a residential robbery."

"What happened to the painting when it was taken from my museum is not my concern.  Now, if somebody elected to buy stolen property, I believe that is a crime," the man replied coldly.

Mistoffelees scowled. “If an almost priceless piece of art has been missing, somehow you don’t’ seem to care much about it.”

Coricopat rose, "My agents will get your statement, and be in touch, sir.  Mistoffelees, if I could speak with you for a moment?"

 “If you must,” Mistoffelees muttered, standing.

The lead agent stepped out of the conference room and headed for his office, waiting for the other at the door of the room. Giving the curator, Walter, a long look, Mistoffelees flipped the gray fedora he’d been wearing back on his hair before following Coricopat at a more leisurely pace.

Coricopat shook his head when the other reached him, "Could you try not to offend the man who came to us about missing artwork, please?  Just because you don't like him doesn't mean you can do that."

 “Can do what? Offend him?” Mistoffelees asked. “But it was so easy. He’s an idiot, anyway.”

"Accusing him of being an idiot for one, even if you didn't do it in so many words.  The man's an expert in his field and you informed him he was wrong.  To his face."

 “Because he was!” Mistoffelees protested. “Either he’s incompetent in his field or he was trying to prove _me_ stupid.”

"Assume the second.  The man's been working at his job for years, which means he evidently has enough expertise to hold it," Coricopat responded.

 “Even if he’s uncreative,” Mistoffelees rolled his eyes.

The taller man sighed, "Yes, even then.  What's rubbing you the wrong way so decidedly?"

 “Nothing,” Mistoffelees said, snapping his eyes again. “I don’t like his type.”

"His type?  Which type is that?"  Coricopat didn't sound unduly impressed.

 “Arrogance academic who thinks education makes him know everything?” Mistoffelees offered.

"Alright, I'll grant you that he is that.  But, please, in the future try not to bait people like that?  I'd really rather not deal with them after you do."

 “Fine,” Mistoffelees said, looking away again.

"We need to talk to Juliana again, would you be willing to be there when we do?"

 “Course,” he said, eyes softening. “I’ll be perfectly willing to talk to her.

"Thank you.  We're going to have to ask her about the painting and where they got it, so it might not go really well."

 “I’m sure I’ll manage to be charming enough to keep it smooth,” Mistoffelees drawled.

Coricopat offered him a faint smile, "I have no doubt."

 “Just let me know when she comes in,” Mistoffelees said, watching the curator walk by and scowling.

The lead agent nodded slightly, someone already having called Juliana and she had said she'd be by after her class got out.  He watched the curator before glancing at Mistoffelees, "Is it all academics or just those who think their degree makes them better?"

Instantly Mistoffelees’ attention was back on him. “Um, what?”

"His type, the ones you can't stand.  Academics in general, or those with a chip on their shoulder and a head three sizes too big?"

For a moment Mistoffelees considered him. “Mostly the big headed ones. But I’ve never been that comfortable around anyone with elbow patches and several degrees.”

"And here you seemed the type who would have enjoyed school, and college."

 “Yeah,” Mistoffelees said slowly. “Never went to college.”

Coricopat blinked at that, "Really?  I mean I know you never ended up with a degree, but..."

Mistoffelees gave him another look that told him he hadn’t done the right research. “Going to college requires getting the degree before it first, you know.”

That earned another long blink, "You...I didn't realize."

Mistoffelees barely lifted the line of his shoulders. “I don’t like academics,” he repeated. “I can charm the pants off them if I need to, but I’d rather not.”

Coricopat hesitated before nodding, "Understood.  I'll keep it in mind."

Mistoffelees took a deep breath and looked away again. “When is Juliana getting here?”

"Any minute now probably," Coricopat answered.

Juliana entered a couple of minutes later, "Agent Zimmerman.  Have you found my grandmother's painting?"

He hesitated, "Maybe we'd better talk in my office."

 “It’s safer in there,” Mistoffelees said.

She glanced between them but nodded, following Coricopat into the office and settling in one of the chairs in front of his desk, "What's going on?"

Mistoffelees tried not to glare at the glass again. “Do you know how the Haustenberg came into your grandmother’s possession?”

"She brought it with her from Hungary when she came to this country after the war.  Why?"  She glanced from Mistoffelees to Cori and back.

Macavity chose that moment to poke his head inside. “Co--Agent Zimmerman. Got a question for you.”

Coricopat looked up and nodded, "I'll be back in a moment, if you two will excuse me."  He slipped out, closing the door most of the way.

Juliana watched him go, "What's going on?"

 “You’re not a good liar,” Mistoffelees shook his head. “Curator here says the painting was stolen in 1967.”

She blinked at him, "What does that have to do with anything?"

 “Because that’s about the time your grandmother probably stole it?” Mistoffelees offered.

"And what makes you think she stole it?"  She asked him, almost warily.

He looked distinctly unimpressed. “The fact it was _registered_ as stolen? Someone stole it. She ended up with it. Buying something stolen is still technically a crime.” He had plenty of experience with that particular classification.

Juliana sighed, looking at where Coricopat had disappeared, "Is this a good cop bad cop thing?  He takes a call and you try to talk me into telling you my grandmother stole the painting she prized above everything else?"

 “No, it’s a thing where that man,” he said, pointing out Walter to her. “Gets the painting instead of you if we recover it. Unless you tell me a damn good reason to keep it away from him.”

Removing the chain of a necklace from around her neck, Juliana looked at him, "If my grandmother had taken it, hypothetically, she would have used a little black dress, a laced bottle of whiskey, and a horny security guard.  And she would have done it because of this."  She held up the necklace, a gold locket hanging from the chain.

Mistoffelees blinked. “That’s the locket in the painting,” he said, registering. “Your grandmother’s the little girl in the painting?”

Juliana nodded once, "That's about the sum of it." Mistoffelees swore under his breath. "Can I go now?"  She asked quietly.

“You’ll probably have to wait til Coricopat gets back,” he said, glancing away.

Juliana sighed, "Great.  Alright.  How'd you get this job anyhow?"

 “I didn’t, really, get it,” he said after a pause.

"Well you seem to have it, so...?"

 “You want my life story of how I ended up here?” he asked, arching a brow.

"Well, if you can find something else to talk about until he gets back then no?"

 “What are you going to school for?” he pulled out a mental hat and winced obviously.

Her brows rose, "I... Anthropology."

 “Sounds... nice,” he said, lamely.

She shrugged, "It's something anyway."

Coricopat came back in, blinking as though he was surprised she was still there, "Oh.  I assume Mistoffelees has explained what's going on?"

Juliana nodded, "He has.  May I go?"

"Of course, we'll be in touch."

 “Thank you for your time,” Mistoffelees said, not quite meeting her eyes.

"And you," she returned, slipping out of the office.

Arching an eyebrow at that, Coricopat shook his head, "How did it go?"

 “The girl in the painting’s her grandma,” Mistoffelees said, softly. “It’s a family portrait.”

"It's a--"  the agent paused, "Can she prove it?"

“She has the locket,” Mistoffelees said. “I’m not sure what more proof there can be. And I don’t know if she has it if there is.”

"They're going to want more proof than a locket, Mistoffelees.  And that's _if_ we recover the painting."

 “I know that,” Mistoffelees said. “So where are we on recovering the painting anyway?”

"No luck yet.  Assuming you just walked off with a hundred grand in cash and the painting, what do you do?"  Coricopat leaned against his desk.

 “Go to ground really damn fast,” Mistoffelees replied.

"But where?  Dorsett said something about a girlfriend, didn't he?"

 “Bridgette,” Mistoffelees nodded. “Coming in from France.”

"How many Bridgettes came in from France last night, I wonder?"

A half hour later the agent was frowning at a list in his hands, "Accounting for middle names and spelling variations, a lot more than I thought."

Mistoffelees stifled a laugh. “Discounting connecting flights and frankly, women over fifty, that leave about seven.”

"Alright.  So we pull in some teams and everyone takes a Brigitte," Coricopat glanced at Macavity and Bombalurina as he spoke, making sure the instructions were directed at them.

 “We’ll take the girl at the Ganzebord,” Mistoffelees said firmly and when Bomba gave him a long look he shrugged. “That’s where I’d stay.”

Coricopat considered that and then nodded, "Ganzebord it is."


	13. But Not Like This

Coricopat leaned back in the driver's seat of the car, picking at the contents of his sandwich, setting some of them aside.  The radio was on softly, a news station playing while he kept n eye on the hotel across the street.

Letting out a long huff of breath, Mistoffelees glared at the radio. “God. This is so boring. How do you ever do this?”

"Lots of practice," came the response.

“How’d you manage to get that practice in without turning into stone before hand?” Mistoffelees asked, shifting.

"The people I did this with were the sort that said 'shut up or I'll shoot you'."

“Was that an implicit threat?” Mistoffelees asked, glancing over at him.

Coricopat looked up from where he was nibbling at a tomato slice, "What?  Oh, no.  Not to you."

 “Good,” Mistoffelees said, shifting his shoulders and looking like he was about to bounce out of the car.

The agent arched an eyebrow, "Relax, would you?"

“How?” Mistoffelees asked, almost plaintive. “It’s so boring.”

"I don't know.  Meditate or something?  There might be a book in the glovebox."

“Meditate?” Mistoffelees asked, sounding almost offended. “Seriously?”

Coricopat rolled a shoulder, "Just a suggestion.  Is there something wrong with meditation?"

“Your book would probably be boring,” Mistoffelees muttered, looking away.

"Oh for pity's sake....It's not that bad."

“How is it not?” Mistoffelees returned, crossing his arms. “Fine, which book is it then?”

"Jude the Obscure.  I think that's the one I have in there right now.  Might be House of the Seven Gables instead..."  Coricopat glanced at the glovebox, trying to remember which one he'd put in there the most recently.

Mistoffelees blinked. “You would,” he said, shifting again.

That earned an arched eyebrow, "You're judging my book choices now?"

“More like not being surprised that you read them,” Mistoffelees replied. “They’re very... subdued books.”

"They're not the only things I read, but I can hardly bring something that will pull me in too thoroughly on stake-outs."

Mistoffelees ran a hand through his hair, staring out the window at the open air restaurant in front of the hotel. Coricopat shook his head, setting the last of his sandwich aside, and turning his gaze to the restaurant, "Place like this, feels like you'd spend money breathing the air."

 “Yeah,” Mistoffelees said, actually sound wistful. “That’s the whole point.”

"You miss this life?  Rubbing elbows with people who'd as soon stab you in the back as shake your hand?"  Coricopat glanced at him, arching an eyebrow.

 “Desperately,” Mistoffelees murmured and glanced back at him. “Besides, you say that as if working at the FBI office is any different--plenty of people would like to stab me in the back while shaking my hand there too.”

"You're starting to grow on quite a few people there, though," he offered quietly.

 “Yeah, a few,” Mistoffelees said, looking away again. “It’s great, really.”

Coricopat sighed, turning his attention back to the restaurant.  He glanced at Mistoffelees again, weighing options, "You hungry at all?"

Mistoffelees eyed his sandwich for a moment. “Yeah.”

"Think you can afford anything there?"  the agent nodded to the restaurant.

 “Substantial? Probably not,” Mistoffelees shrugged. “Or you could spot me a twenty.”

That earned an arched eyebrow, "Why not use that new gold card you got?"

Closing his eyes, Mistoffelees sighed. “I shouldn’t even be the least surprised you’ve been tracking that, should I?”

"No, you really shouldn't," Coricopat answered, fishing out a twenty and handing it over.  "Go.  No shenanigans.  You've got ten minutes, and make sure your phone's on."

Mistoffelees stopped what his hands were doing, leaving an origami crane on the dashboard he’d folded out of a napkin found in the glove box. “This is for you,” he declared, slipping out instantly with the offered twenty. Coricopat looked at the crane, but shook his head as he reached for his book.

Meandering the area, Mistoffelees kept one ear out as he surveyed the drinks and the rich, well dressed people chatting. When he came upon a couple of young women speaking animatedly in French, he paused, tilting his head toward them.

After a moment he approached, introducing himself in French, making a despairing remark about his poor American accent, and within ten minutes he was leaning against Coricopat’s window again.

Coricopat rolled the window down, arching an eyebrow, "Yes?"

“What do you think?” Mistoffelees said, waving slightly toward the two tipsy French blondes.

The agent looked over the two women, unimpressed, "Hookers?"

 “Philistine,” Mistoffelees muttered. “That is the lovely Brigette, just here from France and her beautiful friend Claire.”

“Are you completely out of your mind?"  Coricopat hissed.

 “She wants to invite me and my friend back up to her room,” Mistoffelees replied. “Don’t you want to know if we’re in the right place or not? The painting and hundred grand could be sitting up there!”

Hesitating the agent finally rolled up the window and shut the car off, getting out and pocketing the keys, "Fine.  If we've been invited up."

“We have,” Mistoffelees said, holding his hands up. “So it’s breaking no laws.”

Almost as soon as Coricopat was out of the car, one of the girls coiled around his arm.  He arched an eyebrow, considering her and the passport photo they'd located of Brigette, "Claire?"

Giggling, she nodded, hitting him with a burst of rapid French as Mistoffelees wrapped an arm around Bridgette’s waist, letting her lead the way upstairs.

Coricopat and Claire followed them, Coricopat's French stumbling, and badly accented, but passable for a basic conversation.  Especially since it appeared the girl didn't speak any English.

Once inside the room, they broke off from the men, going, giggling, into the bathroom.

Coricopat ran a hand over the sleeve of his suit coat, smoothing it down with a faint grimace, "Wonderful."

Mistoffelees arched a brow, looking around the expensive room quickly. “Your suit could stand some rumpling.”

The agent ignored that, glancing around, "No sign of a man here, and Brigette does not look like a girl who's worried about her boyfriend coming home..."

Mistoffelees shrugged. “We’ll know one way or the other soon enough.”

“Fine. The second we find out if Dorsett is staying here, though, we leave and call in reinforcements, got it?"

 “Got it,” Mistoffelees said, more relaxed then he had been in the car, even if their situation was suddenly potentially much more dangerous.

Coricopat’s grey eyes darted to the room where the girls had gone, "They’re coming back out."

 “Don’t look so panicked,” Mistoffelees said softly, shaking his head and moving back over to Bridgette, noticing as she locked the door that was between two of the rooms.

"I don't panic."  Coricopat ran a hand over his face as Claire sashayed over to him and slid her hands under his coat's shoulders to divest him of them.  He tensed, but didn't draw away, though he looked like he wanted to.

 “Relax,” Mistoffelees soothed from across the room as Bridgette moved over, turning on music.

Coricopat shot him a long look at that, but let Claire pull him further into the room, "You have got to be kidding me..."

Mistoffelees laughed softly as Bridgette pulled him into a shuffling dance, still talking to him in happy French, which he replied in, glancing at Coricopat every once and a while. When the song changed, he made sure Bridgette had another drink and moved toward the bathroom.

Coricopat's eyes widened and he shook his head rapidly, hissing just enough to be heard over the music, "Don't you dare..."

 “I just need to use the washroom,” Mistoffelees replied. “And I’ve already heard this speech.”

The agent hid a grimace and forced a smile as the girls pulled him into at least trying to dance.

“Keep them distracted,” Mistoffelees said, leaning up to whisper it in Coricopat’s ear before retreating.

Coricopat's gaze darted after him, but his attention was quickly pulled back as the girls yanked him onto the couch with him, "Ladies, please."  He was going to murder Mistoffelees for this.

Mistoffelees tried not to grin too obviously as he picked the lock leading to the Master bedroom from the bathroom, instantly getting to work on tearing the room apart, shifting through the drawers and looking under the bed. Rising, he ran a hand through his hair, looking around again.

Tilting his head, he approached a large framed hotel mirror, pulling it from the wall and finding the Haustenberg fitted into the back.

He turned the painting over, admiring it for a moment and pausing at the back, where words were written in white. /To my dearest Julianna. Keep this forever./

“Huh,” he said after a moment before slipping into the other room to make sure the women had more drinks and gathering Coricopat with him, having left an origami butterfly in the mirror frame for Dorsett to find.

w-w-w-w

 Coricopat grabbed his suit coat on his way out the door, trying to smooth his suit and hair down again as they left the hotel, "I hope that was worth more than your apparent amusement.  Don't ever do that again."

“Do what?” Mistoffelees asked, glancing back at him and swallowing.

He straightened his tie and ran a hand through his hair to try to retame the locks, "You know very well what."

“You look better rumpled,” Mistoffelees replied, leading the way down the stairs. “And you mean throw you in front of two beautiful women and tell you to try and enjoy yourself?”

"I don't think I'd call this better.  And yes, that.  Most awkward situation I've been in in a long time."

“If that’s the most awkward you’ve been, you gotta get out more,” Mistoffelees said, shaking his head.

"I said in a long time," Coricopat muttered, trying to smooth the wrinkles out of his suit coat.

Rolling his eyes, Mistoffelees stopped and turned, tugging down Coricopat’s jacket and smoothing out the shoulders before flicking his hair, getting it to lay flatter then Coricopat had managed. Without saying another word he took off down the stairs again.

Coricopat froze at that contact, blinking himself out of the half-daze it had put him in before hurrying to catch up to Mistoffelees.

w-w-w-w

Once Coricopat dropped him off home--since there was no reason to go on a stake out again--Mistoffelees headed quickly up to the apartment, pulling his tie off as he went up the stairs, bursting in and giving Jerrie and Oscar a long look before going for the closet.

Jerrie sneezed once, setting the cat down from where he'd been petting it absently again, "You're home earlier than I figured."

“And I thought you were allergic to that cat,” Mistoffelees said, scratching Oscar’s ear on the way to the closet, pulling his suit jacket off.

"I am.  He's just not allergic to me and he was lonely.  What's the news?"

“Found the painting,” Mistoffelees said, carefully removing it from where he’d hid it in the back of the jacket to keep knowledge of it away from Coricopat. “Now, I just want to go out.”

"You...found the painting and didn't give it to the suit."  Jerrie blinked, "and now you want to go out.  Where?"

“Anywhere!” Mistoffelees said, throwing a hand up. “I’m turning into the damn suit, never going out, never doing anything. I just want to be somewhere with people and noise and _movement_.”

His friend considered that for a moment, "Well, find one of your more casual outfits and I know a nice club we can hit up?  It's got a dance floor an' everything."

“Good,” Mistoffelees said, looking at the painting a long moment before setting it carefully on the easel he had set up, retreating into the walk in closet.

"You're probably going to want to stash that before the suit shows up..."  Jerrie muttered, but scratched Oscar behind the ears when the kitten perched itself on the arm of the couch.

“I’ll worry about that in the morning,” Mistoffelees shook his head.

"Kay.  If you're wearing a hat, I vote that black felt one you've got."

Pausing a moment, Mistoffelees glanced over at Jerrie and smiled. “Thanks,” he murmured, taking the hat from its perch and stepping out of the closet. “Please, get me out of here.”

His friend offered a sweeping bow and motioned to the door, "A night of dancing and revelry awaits."

“Thank god,” Mistoffelees said, sweeping from the door.

Oscar jumped up on the table when they left, curling up on Mistoffelees’ discarded jacket.

w-w-w-w

 Coricopat had returned to his apartment for just long enough to get changed before exiting again and showing up at the place his sister and Bombalurina shared.  He hesitated before knocking on the door. Bomba answered the door, red hair border lining on unkempt and she arched an eyebrow at him. “Erm, yes boss?”

He glanced at his watch, "I probably should have called ahead, shouldn't I?"

“It’s certainly getting late,” she agreed. “Is there an emergency or is this one of your I’m-not-panicking-but-I-need-someone-to-talk-to attacks?”

"I don't panic," he responded testily.

Tant stuck her head out of the kitchen where she was dealing with the dishes from dinner, "Right.  Of course not.  Let him in, Bomba."

“I said you weren’t panicking,” Bomba said with a shrug, stepping aside. “But only you were having an attack of this desperate need to talk to someone. So sure, come on it.”

He stepped inside, glancing around, "Thanks.  I...suppose I do rather need someone to talk to."

"You mean who isn't Macavity?"  Tant asked, pouring her brother a cup of tea from the pot she'd just finished brewing.

"Yes, I mean who isn't Macavity.  I didn't feel like driving all the way over there."

“Not to like, rush you boss or anything,” Bomba said, glowering at him from the other side of the kitchen island. “But, what do you want exactly? To talk about?”

"I just got a call.  If your phone was on you should have as well, we lost Dorsett.  And Brigette...theoretically turned out to just be a dead end."

Tantomile arched an eyebrow, "And this has you on our doorstep because...?"

"Because Brigette was a good lead.  And if we don't locate Dorsett we lose a good asset in Caffrey," he muttered, sipping at the tea.

 “Boss,” Bomba started and took a breath. “A case isn’t why you’re here. Is it something to do with Caffrey?”

"We were invited up to their hotel room, Brigette and her friend's I mean.  He left me alone with them while he managed to get into the master bedroom.  I had no eyes on him for far longer than I like when we're talking that money and painting," Coricopat sighed.

Tantomile considered her twin for a long moment, "You think he stole them?"

"I...I don't know.  I think it's a very real possibility."

Narrowing her eyes, Bomba fluffed the bottom of her red hair with one hand. “So are you just annoyed that you think Caffrey is doing, oh, what he’s always done?”

"I..."  Coricopat glanced at her and then looked back to his sister, the expression in his grey eyes lost for the briefest moment.

Tant blinked at that, "Cori, he's a criminal.  It's what he did.  Maybe Dorsett lied about his girlfriend though, who knows?  You don't know one way or another.  So, my recommendation is you go home, you brew your own tea, you pick up a book or a movie that you can watch mindlessly and you shut your brain off for tonight.  Stop thinking about Caffrey, that's step one.  Step two is actually sleep and step three is join us for supper on Sunday.  Got it?"

Her brother hesitated, finishing off the tea and then finally nodded, "I...Alright, Tant.  I'll give it a try."

 “Did he do anything else tonight?” Bomba asked, looking the other agent over.

"Left me to keep two beautiful blond French women distracted and told me to relax while doing it?"  her boss offered.

Bomba’s brow inched up. “I’m surprised he didn’t bat his eyelashes at you. That usually seems to work for things like that.”

Coricopat frowned, "Thank you for that input."

She rolled her shoulders. “Any time boss.”

He sighed, offering his sister a faint smile and giving Bomba an apologetic look, "I'll let you two get back to your evening.  Sorry to have intruded."

 “See you tomorrow,” Bomba waved him off. “Early, most likely.”

"Most likely,"  he slipped out to return to his own apartment and try to take his sister's advice.

w-w-w-w

Mistoffelees slid into Coricopat’s car the next morning, head pounding already. “Morning,” he grumbled.

Coricopat glanced at him, "You look like hell."

Mistoffelees snorted. “Feeling a little bit like that warmed over. I’ll get over it.”

"Enjoy yourself last night then?"  the agent turned the car toward headquarters.

 “You could say that,” Mistoffelees murmured, having gone through the entire dance floor last night, seducing anyone who crossed his path without fulfilling anything.

"...I see.  Dorsett got away last night," he remarked, glancing at Mistoffelees out of the corner of his eye.

 “How away?” Mistoffelees asked, rubbing his temple.

"He's gone to ground and we can't find him.  We've lost him, and the painting and the money."

That got through Mistoffelees’ brain. “That’s bad, isn’t it?”

"It's very bad."  Coricopat agreed, stopping at a red light and turning to look at the other, "I really hate to say this, and you're not going to like hearing it, but if we don't find him they're talking very seriously about sending you back."

Mistoffelees tensed. “Over one case? I wasn’t even aware I was the one screwing this up!”

Turning back to the road, Coricopat focused on driving as he answered, "They think you have the painting."

 “They think,” Mistoffelees sputtered. “Don’t they need proof of something like that?”

"If it comes to it, they'll search for it, you know this.  I know this, and without Dorsett or the painting we have no way to prove them wrong."

Mistoffelees glanced away again. “Well, it’s always reassuring to hear that no one trusts me still.”

"I didn't say that," Coricopat murmured.  "But it is a concern, you haven’t been working with us for all that long, it's an expensive painting and a lot of money."

 “You know I’m doing everything possible to get that painting back, right?” Mistoffelees said, giving him a hard look.

"I didn't say I doubted that, did I?"

 “You never said you believed it either,” Mistoffelees replied.

Coricopat drew a deep breath, keeping his gaze focused on the road, "I don't know what I think."

VS

“Oh that’s reassuring to hear,” Mistoffelees couldn’t help but say, sarcasm dripping from his voice.

"What do you want me to say?  That I trust you implicitly?  Sorry, I don't do that for anyone."

 “Some faith that I might do the right thing would be nice,” Mistoffelees replied. “Have I done anything but be helpful?”

"No.  You haven't."  He sighed, "I don't think you took the money, but I honestly don't know about the painting.  You'd tell me if you had it, wouldn't you?"  Coricopat tilted his head to look at Mistoffelees briefly.

Mistoffelees’ eyes widened and he swallowed before answering. “Would you believe me if I said it really did belong with Julianna?”

"Can you prove it?"

 “... Yes,” Mistoffelees said.

Coricopat's gaze darted to him, "You have the painting?  Mistoffelees!"

Mistoffelees looked panicked for a moment. “I’m not keeping it! But I need--I want the time to do something.”

The agent drew a deep breath, "The Channing's going to fight us for it.  And they're not going to let it go."

 “I know you don’t trust me,” Mistoffelees said. “But can you try to trust me for a few days? I just need a little time.”

Coricopat hesitated, but nodded, "I can give you two days, any longer and if we don't have the painting or Dorsett to hand over I can't do anything."

 “Alright,” Mistoffelees said faintly.

"Now, let's go see what we can find on Dorsett," he murmured, pulling to a stop in front of FBI headquarters.

 “Okay,” Mistoffelees said faintly, following him inside.

w-w-w-w

That night Mistoffelees stood in front of the painting, considering it for a long moment while trying to decide if this was worth the thin ice he was on or not. The phone ringing jerked him out of his thoughts. “Caffrey,” he said, assuming it was Coricopat. “Who is this?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” an accented voice replied and Mistoffelees’ shoulders tensed. “You have many different names, do you not?”

“Dorsett. How’d you get this number?”

“You bought my girlfriend a drink with your credit card,” Dorsett replied and Mistoffelees scowled. The twenty hadn’t covered all the drinks he’d needed to get for the women before they agreed to let him up into their room, damn it. “I’m impressed with your resourcefulness,” Dorsett continued. “Now I want you to see mine. I want that painting. It it’s not returned, I’ll pay a visit to your beautiful friend at the gallery, for even though I doubt you’ve known each other years, I’m sure you’ll dislike seeing harm come to her.

“Leave her out of this,” Mistoffelees growled.

“Or would the agent that you had with you when you visited my girlfriend be a better target?” Dorsett mused. “Because you cannot talk to me about bounds. Brigette was out of bounds and _you_ opened that door. You set the rules, you play by them.”

“I need time,” Mistoffelees said, desperate.

“Until Friday,” Dorsett replied. “That’s all you have,” and then the other side of the line went dead.

Jerrie had entered the apartment during the last minute or so of the conversation and he paused, tapping on the now open door to let his friend know he was there.

Mistoffelees turned. “Jerrie,” he greeted, softly.

The redhead made his way over, "That sure didn't sound like a good phone call..."

 “That was Dorsett,” Mistoffelees said, putting the phone down. “With threats. Remind me _never_ to own a credit card again.”

"I told you they're not worth it."  He paused, "Is that the Haustenberg?"

 “Yes,” Mistoffelees said shortly.

"You stole the Haustenberg."  His voice was flat, "Does the suit know?"

 “Sorta,” he replied, looking around the apartment.

"Why did you take it?" Jerrie asked, shaking his head slightly.

 “I was going to give it back to Julianna,” Mistoffelees muttered.

"Give it...Seriously?"  Jerrie blinked at him, picking up Oscar from where the kitten was curled up, not really thinking about it.  "No sense of consequence, did you think you'd be able to do that?"

Mistoffelees shook his head as Oscar butted the top of his head into Jerrie’s hand, demanding to be pet.

“Look at the inscription,” Mistoffelees said, turning the painting. “The Curator said he authenticated the painting himself before it was stolen. He saw it belonged to Julianna’s family and ignored it.”

Jerrie scratched the kitten behind the ears, shaking his head, "And so you decided to play Robin Hood.  Did I forget to mention the part where you _stole the painting_?"

 “I didn’t think Dorsett would get away, or find my number,” he protested.

Shaking his head, his friend just looked at him, "This is because you don't like the guy from the Channing.  You did this for spite."

 “I’ve done things for less,” Mistoffelees shrugged.

"So what are you going to do now?"

 “Now, I’m going to forge the painting,” Mistoffelees decided.

"...I'm not even going to say what a bad idea that could be.  What are you going to do about Dorsett?"

 “I’ll call Coricopat as soon as we set up a meeting,” Mistoffelees said, already shrugging out of his vest and rolling up his sleeves before scavenging for the paint.

Jerrie perched himself on Misto's table, nodding, "Alright.  Better to ask forgiveness than permission and all that?"

 “Something like that,” Mistoffelees agreed, before setting to work on the painting, Oscar planted himself next to Jerrie on the table and washing a paw.

Jerrie watched him in silence for a while, scratching Oscar's back from tiem to time and sniffling intermittently, "You know you have absolutely no impulse control sometimes."

 “Hand me the Naples Yellow,” Mistoffelees said in response.

Rolling his eyes, he handed over the right color, "Haustenberg's brush work is much more fluid.  You're being choppy."

 “My brush work is doing just fine,” Mistoffelees replied, though he worked on getting his shoulders to relax again.

"This could trick the occasional tourist, but this guy at the Channing will not be fooled," Jerrie remarked, scooping Oscar up again.

 “Oh, I’m sure he won’t,” Mistoffelees said, something sparkling in his eye.

Jerrie arched an eyebrow, but fell silent again while Mistoffelees finished the painting.  Tilting his head on one side to consider the finished work the redhead started for the oven, "The pigment needs aged, I'll get it preheated."

 “It’s one-twenty-five,” Mistoffelees started.

Jerrie waved a hand at him, "I know how to age a painting."

 “Thanks, Jerrie,” Mistoffelees said and pulled the phone back out, dialing Coricopat.

Coricopat answered after a moment, "Zimmerman."

 “I have the chance to get a meeting with Dorsett,” Mistoffelees said.

"You...what?  How?" the agent demanded.

 “Next time you can spot me a fifty and I am never using a credit card again,” Mistoffelees said, making a face.

Coricopat fell silent for a long moment, something akin to worry creeping into his voice, "He called you.  When are you meeting him?"

 “I bought some time,” Mistoffelees said, frowning at Coricopat’s tone. “We’ll set up the meet tomorrow, for Friday.”

"Good, and you've got the painting for him?"

 “Yeah, I’ve got something,” Mistoffelees said and paused. “Also, he threatened to go after Taryn and the friend I had with me the night with Brigette. While I’m sure you can take care of yourself, you might want a shadow on Taryn for now, just in case.”

Jerrie looked up at that bit of information even as Coricopat sighed, "I'll get someone right on that.  We'll talk in the morning about where and how to set up that meet."

 “Good,” Mistoffelees said and paused. “Good night.”

"Good night, Mistoffelees.  Stay safe."

Mistoffelees laughed shortly. “I’ll try my best,” he said, before hanging the phone up.

Jerrie watched him for a long moment, "He threatened the girl you were working with and the suit?"

 “Yeah,” Mistoffelees said softly. “Why?”

"Trying to figure out which one got you pulling the desperation card when I walked in,” the redhead shrugged.

Mistoffelees blinked at him. “My own safety maybe?”

Jerrie looked skeptical at that, but shrugged again, "Maybe."

 “I hardly know Taryn,” Mistoffelees said and paused. “The suit’s just had to give up a lot for me already, I don’t want him being hurt on my conscious too.”

"Alright.  Well, we've got a bit before that thing's been aged properly."  He deposited Oscar in Mistoffelees' hands, "Have a kitten."

Mistoffelees frowned at him, but accepted the kitten, who mewed and hit his cheek with one small black and white paw, claws in. “Alright,” he said. “I’ll have a kitten.”

w-w-w-w

The next day went by in a blur of preparations for the meeting, and early Friday morning found Mistoffelees in the car with Coricopat, on the way there. “How tenuous is my probation, anyway?” he asked, glancing over and trying not to fidget.

Coricopat glanced at him, "It's...pretty thing.  We need this one."

 “It’s a simple set up though, isn’t it?”

"Yeah.  So don't make it complicated."  He turned his full attention back to the road, "Take Dorsett down quickly."

 “Coricopat,” Mistoffelees said after a moment. “Will I ever _not_ be on thin ice here?”

"With me or the bureau?"

“Both, either,” he said, shrugging.

"You're not on thin ice with me...in most areas, the bureau...I really don't know.  There's something coming down from higher than Vlask that makes this probation a whole lot more finicky than it was supposed to be."

Mistoffelees sighed. “Then let’s get this done.”

Coricopat nodded once, pulling to a stop a couple blocks up from where Mistoffelees was supposed to meet Dorsett, "Here we are."

Mistoffelees nodded, getting out of the car and striding toward the meeting place.

Coricopat ran a last minute check to be sure everyone was in position before settling in, at the ready should anything go wrong.

Leaning against a car, Mistoffelees’ eyebrows rose as Dorsett approached at the appointed time. “I’m surprised you were brave enough to come yourself.”

Dorsett gave him a long look. “It is not bravery. I just do not trust Joshua with a million dollar painting.”

“Little hard to live like that, not trusting the people around you,” Mistoffelees remarked, well aware he did it himself.

“I suppose,” Dorsett shrugged. “But I’ll take the money.”

“You won,” Mistoffelees admitted.

“Yes,” Dorsett agreed, smiling strangely. “But it was a good game.”

Between one breath and the next they were surrounded by FBI agents. “Hands up! FBI!” Bomba yelled from around her gun. “Hands where I can see them _now_.”

Dorsett shot Mistoffelees a surprised look and he only smiled back at him as he was led away.

w-w-w-w

Mistoffelees showed up as soon as the meeting was over with the painting at Julianna’s house, an eye on the clock and thankful it was still just about ten am.

Julianna answered the door when he knocked, offering him a smile, "Hey.  Did you find it?"

He held it out to her carefully. “Risked a lot for it too.”

She gently took it from him, "Thank you.  Do you want to know the story?"

 “I’d really appreciate hearing it,” he said, stepping inside.

The young woman started for the stairs, "Come on up, I'll tell you while I put this back where it belongs."

Mistoffelees followed, looking around. “You might also want to see about cutting Uncle Gary out of your life. He’s an idiot, first of all, and second of all helped the guy steal your painting.”

Julianna blinked at him for a long moment, "Really?  But he..."  She shook her head, "Actually, I'm not sure I'm all that surprised."

 “I’m sorry,” Mistoffelees said. “But it’s better to know these things.”

She sighed, setting the painting on the mantle, "Family secrets are awful, so you're probably right.  Better to get it out in the open with him."  She slipped the locket from around her neck, "Now, about the painting.  My grandmother never took the locket off, for as long as I knew her, until she gave it to me.  I asked her about it, and she told me that the people inside were her mother and father."  She handed the locket over to the man, "Go ahead and open it up."

Mistoffelees did as instructed and blinked. “That’s Haustenberg. Haustenberg was her father?”

Julianna nodded, "She was his illegitimate daughter.  He had another family then.  In Hungary.  Before the war."

“But how’d the painting end up in the Channing then?”

"He willed the painting to my grandmother, but when he died the museum chose to ignore his will." She rolled a shoulder in a half-shrug, "Who cares about the illegitimate daughter of a famous artist?"

 “Right,” Mistoffelees said, the corner of his mouth curling sardonically. “It’s not theft if the rich men do it.”

Julianna smiled faintly at that, "Exactly.  How do you know the Channing won't try to take it back again?"

 “Well, if they do, the curator is going to have to explain they went against Haustenberg’s wishes and I just don’t think he wants that,” Mistoffelees said, grinning.

She smiled at him, "Would you like to do the honors of hanging this back up?"

Glancing at her in some surprise, Mistoffelees nodded. “I would,” he said, accepting it back and moving to place it over the mantel again.

w-w-w-w

Coricopat handed the painting that Mistoffelees had been giving Dorsett during the sting over to the curator.  The man took it, frowning at it for a long moment, and the head agent could feel his heart rate rise, _Mistoffelees, what have you done?_

Turning the painting over, the curator paled.  Inscribed on the back were the clearly written words: _My dearest Walter, I know what you saw here last time MC._

Coricopat eyed the man, "Problem?"

Offering him a smile, Walter slid the painting into a case designed for its transport, "No, no.  Just, uh, overcome with the uh- I'm thrilled to have the original Haustenberg back where it belongs."

The agent arched an eyebrow, but didn't question that, "Glad to have been of service.  Good day, sir."

"Good day," he mumbled as he picked up the case and left.

w-w-w-w

After hanging the painting, Mistoffelees had said his goodbyes to Julianna with one eye on the clock, making his way as quickly as possible to Grand Central Station, stopping near the X where both notes had been and looking around.

Jerrie stepped out of the shelter of one of the awnings, coming up beside him.

 “Forbidden romantic meetings are kind of a personal thing, Jer,” Mistoffelees said, glancing over.

"Like I was going to let you come alone," his friend responded.  "For all you know the guy with the ring planted the note."

 “He didn’t,” Mistoffelees protested quickly, frowning at him.

"You'll be happy I came when a red laser dot suddenly appears on your forehead," Jerrie answered.

Mistoffelees rolled his eyes. “That’s not going to happen.”

"How do you know?" Jerrie pressed.

 “Because it’s Pounce,” Mistoffelees said, eyes scanning the crowd and the clock and starting to look for the first time a little doubtful.

"Well, it's Friday.  And it _was_ noon." Jerrie remarked quietly, "So where is he, Misto?"

 “I...” Mistoffelees started and suddenly the payphone started ringing. Instantly he darted toward it, pulling it off its cradle. “Pounce?”

"Misto?" the familiar voice responded.

 “Pounce,” Mistoffelees repeated, love and relief in his voice as his shoulders sagged. He hadn’t heard the other’s voice in months. “God, Pounce, where are you?”

Pounce's smile could be heard in his voice, "Hey.  Look, I don't have a lot of time."

 “No, tell me where you--” Mistoffelees paused, hearing horns over the phone, the same ones on the street he was standing on. “Oh god, you’re here.”

"Misto?  Are you still there?  Misto?"

Mistoffelees started scanning the area, moving back and forth and freezing when he saw Pounce standing on the balcony of a building nearby. “Hi,” he said, sounding even more breathless then he had answering the phone.

Pouncival smiled, a crooked grin, "Hi."

 “God, just stay there, I’m coming--”

"No.  Misto, no.  He's close.  Don’t come up," Pounce spoke quickly.

Mistoffelees froze. “Do you mean the man with the ring?”

Pounce nodded, "Yes.  Him."

 “I don’t care!” Mistoffelees said, hitting the side of the phone box.

"Misto, please, listen.  I need you to tell me where you hid everything."

 “What?” Mistoffelees asked, freezing.

"I need to know, Misto.  The money, the bonds, the art.  All of it."

 “Why?” Mistoffelees asked, feeling betrayal hit him in the chest.

"He wants something.  Something you took, something you hid."

 “I hid a lot of things, Pounce,” Mistoffelees snapped, staring up at him with wide eyes.

Pounce ran a hand through his hair before leaning on the railing, "Then give him everything.  If he gets what he wants, he'll let me come back to you."

“Who is he then?” Mistoffelees demanded. “Pounce, please.”

"Misto, I can't tell you.  It's too dangerous for you."

 “Dangerous? You mean like having guns pointed at me every day with the threat of prison still over my head? Pounce, just tell me. Let me protect you.”

"This is the only way you can help me, Misto.  You always told me I had to trust you, now I'm asking you to trust me.  I want to come home."  His voice wavered just slightly "Please just tell me where you hid everything."

 “I can’t,” Mistoffelees said, softly. “I can’t, Pounce--”

"Misto...I-I just want to come home."

 “Then let me get you home, but not like that!”

"It's the only thing he'll accept!"

 “Come with me Pounce,” Mistoffelees said. “Please, just stay there, I’m coming,” and he took off from the phone, running toward the building.

Jerrie came around the corner in time to spot Mistoffelees headed for the building, he picked up the dangling phone, "Pounce?"

Pouncival drew a deep breath, "Jerrie, tell Misto I love him.  Tell him it's the only way."

"Like hell it's the only way.  Don't you dare--" he found himself talking to a dial tone.

Making it to the low roof, Mistoffelees looked around desperately. “Pounce?” he called out, not finding a trace of where he was just standing, except the burner phone left behind. “Pounce!”

Jerrie hung up the pay phone and looked up at where he could see Mistoffelees standing where Pounce had been moments before. 


	14. Anything For You, Honey Bucket

Grids entered the house, setting her bag down and scratching their dog behind the ears, "Mac?"

 “Yes, honey bucket?” Macavity asked, leaning from behind the divide that led to the kitchen.

She held up two theatre tickets, "You have Friday night at the beginning of next month off, right?"

 “Yes?” he offered, eyes narrowing slightly. “What are those?”

"Theater tickets.  We're going out that night."

 “We,” he paused and flailed mentally. “We are? To the theatre?”

"You can survive one night at the theater, and I have it on good authority you'll even enjoy the show," Grids responded.

 “Who’s authority?” Macavity asked, tilting his head as he approached her, wrapping an arm around her waist and considering the tickets.

"Does it matter?" she tilted her head to kiss his cheek.

 “Well now I’m curious like,” he grumped.

"A friend of mine.  You don't know her.  Anyhow, I was thinking sushi before the play as well."

 “Sushi?” Macavity said and arched a brow. “Erm, why?”

"Because I've been craving it recently, and I heard there's a really good place down by the theater."

 “Oh, well then, of course,” Macavity said, glancing down at his wife.

She leaned up to kiss him lightly, "Thank you."

 “Anything for you, honey bucket,” he replied, a bit listlessly as he tried to remember if he’d ever actually gone out for sushi.

"Everything alright, Mac?"

 “Of course,” he said, smoothing some of her hair down. “Just been a long day is all. I cooked dinner.”

"Dinner's always good, and it smells delicious."

 “I always hope to be of service,” Macavity laughed.

w-w-w-w

The next morning Macavity entered the office, glancing over at Mistoffelees who had been surly and taciturn for the last two weeks, since the painting case. Nodding to the consultant, Macavity continued on to Coricopat where he stood by the coffee.

Coricopat glanced up as he set the pot back down, "Morning, Mac."

 “Morning yourself,” Macavity replied. “Have you ever pegged me for the sushi and musical type?”

His boss just about choked on the sip of coffee he'd been taking, "No.  Never.  Why?"

 “Because apparently my wife did,” Macavity sighed into a cup of coffee.

That earned him a long blink, "Do you even know how to eat sushi?"

 “I know it involves raw fish?” Macavity said. “It’s like, chopsticks right?”

Mistoffelees looked at him from where he was coming over for coffee. “Please tell me you didn’t say that.”

"Unfortunately he did," Coricopat shook his head at his friend.  "You, Macavity, are doomed in that respect.  Which play is she taking you to?"

“Billy something?” Macavity said.

Mistoffelees gave him another long look. “Billy Elliot?”

“That sounds right, actually,” Macavity nodded and glanced back at him. “Do you know what it’s about?”

“Ballet,” Mistoffelees drawled, shaking his head at Macavity’s expression. “Don’t worry, you’ll like it.”

Coricopat cracked up, "She's taking you to a musical and sushi.  Enjoy that, Mac."

 “I just don’t understand,” Macavity whined.

“You’ll live,” Mistoffelees said, smiling sardonically at him.

Leaning against the counter, the lead agent considered Macavity, "But you've honestly never had sushi?"

 “I mean, it’s raw fish, why would I?” Macavity asked and Mistoffelees choked on the coffee.

"Does Grids know you've never had it?"  Coricopat asked, shaking his head.

 “Probably not? I think she believes me to be more civilized then I am.”

“Anyone would think you’re more civilized then you are,” Mistoffelees shook his head. “As a favor to Griddlebone, I cannot in conscious, let you into a sushi play without some prior knowledge.”

"What do you suggest to teach him that knowledge?"  the lead agent inquired.

Mistoffelees paused. “Well, there aren’t a lot of good places near where I live, at least that I’ve managed to find yet, as Jenny isn’t huge on sushi.” He paused, not quite sure what he was about to offer. “But if you come over tomorrow night I promise to educate you sufficiently to not embarrass yourself.”

That earned an arched eyebrow as Coricopat glanced at Macavity to gauge his reaction. Macavity just blinked. “You’re inviting me over for sushi?” he asked.

“Sure, you just have to give me the time to get the shopping done,” Mistoffelees shrugged.

“So you’re going to be cooking me sushi?” Macavity said in surprise.

Mistoffelees looked ready to bang his head into the table. “You don’t _cook_ sushi. I will however see about making you some.”

Coricopat laughed, "I'd take him up on that offer, Mac."

 “Alright,” Macavity said after a moment. “Sure, I’ll take you up on that.”

Mistoffelees glanced over. “Are you coming too?” he asked Coricopat.

The lead agent blinked, "I...if you want me to."

Mistoffelees shrugged. “Might as well make a party of it. Or a night, rather.”

Coricopat offered him a bit of a smile at that, “Then, yes, I'll be there."

 “Okay,” Mistoffelees said, staring at him a moment before he turned and slipped back toward his desk. The lead agent watched him go, and arched an eyebrow, but headed up to his office to deal with the latest batch of paperwork.

w-w-w-w

Jerrie tapped on the door to Mistoffelees’ apartment the next evening before slipping in, "Hey, M?"

 “Hey Jerrie,” Mistoffelees said from where he was setting things out. “What’s up?”

"Just stopping by.  You up to something tonight?"

 “Sushi night,” Mistoffelees said. “I would have invited you but I figure you would just stop by. If you hadn’t shown up I would have seen about finding you.”

"Sushi?  What brought that on?"  He pet Oscar, where the kitten was curled up on the back of the couch.

Oscar rolled over on the couch, paws sticking up and purring. “Well, I’m trying to help someone out.”

"With sushi."  Jerrie just looked skeptical, as he rubbed the kitten's belly.

 “Well, yes,” Mistoffelees said, not quite smiling. “Something about going to eat it in public with no experience. And I like his wife.”

That earned a laugh, "So to save her that embarrassment you're going to teach him the fact that it is actually something meant for polite consumption?"

 “That’s the basics of it,” Mistoffelees said and glanced to the door. “Have you found anything yet?”

Jerrie hesitated before nodding, "Yeah, one of my contacts is onto something, but he hasn't gotten back to me since telling me that.  You'll know when I know."

Mistoffelees nodded. “Thanks, Jer.”

"Any time, Misto."  He startled slightly when a knock came at the door.

Mistoffelees glanced at him before going back to the door, as Oscar batted at Jerrie’s hand.

Jerrie grinned at the kitten, curling his hand to scratch at its belly.  He glanced up and froze as Coricopat and Macavity entered, "You didn't tell me it was the _suits_.  Misto!"

Mistoffelees shrugged. “You’ve met Coricopat before,” he said.

Macavity stopped dead. “Caffrey, how in the fuck?”

Jerrie paled, "Holy hell, you're a suit?"

Coricopat blinked, "You two know each other?"

 “Apparently,” Macavity said, blinking. “Um, what in the hell?”

Even Mistoffelees looked surprised, glancing between the two of them and then to Coricopat.

"What do you mean, what in the hell?"  Jerrie snapped, "That's the question I ought to be asking.  You're with the feds now?"

 “Apparently,” Macavity repeated. “There was this whole thing with college and recruitment. Do I dare ask who you’re dealing with?”

Jerrie's green eyes narrowed, "I don't deal with much of anybody, not that it's a suit's business."

 “What then, and I still don’t want to know,” Mac shook his head. “If you’ve continued doing what you used to? I really don’t want to hear about it because I’d hate to have to drag your ass anywhere.”

Jerrie shook his head, muttering something along the lines of "street suit" before turning his attention back to Oscar.

 “So wait, how do you know each other?” Mistoffelees asked, still surprised.

"Street suit here grew up in my neighborhood.  Started out his life as a street rat," Jerrie responded, scooping the kitten up and sneezing once before scratching Oscar's ears.

 “Dude, aren’t you like, allergic?” Macavity shook his head. “You used to give my brother’s cat so much crap.”

Mistoffelees glanced between them again. “Street rat?”

“If you mean running with street gangs, then yes,” Macavity said with a shrug.

"Your brother's cat was a demon," Jerrie responded, sounding a bit stuffed up and considering the merits of getting allergy medicine of some sort briefly.

Coricopat shook his head, "It's one of the things that makes him so useful on certain cases."

Macavity rolled his eyes. “My brother’s cat was a sweet heart. You’re the one she got demonic around.”

“That,” Mistoffelees shook his head. “Street gangs? I’m actually not surprised at all.”

"Evil cat was evil."  Jerrie retorted, moving over toward the table.

Mistoffelees blinked after him. “Right, yes, let’s actually do what we came here to do. Which is sushi so you don’t shame your wife.”

Jerrie just about choked at that, turning, "Wait, the sushi night is for you?  Someone married you?"

 “Someone married me,” Macavity said, voice stiff.

“You didn’t think it was for Coricopat, did you?” Mistoffelees asked, giving Jerrie a long look.

"Well...No, but the idea that someone married him..."  Jerrie shook his head, "Either she is very brave or really didn't see you coming."

 “Actually, I didn’t see her coming,” Macavity shrugged. “Besides, you’d like here. Considering that I am _never_ letting you near her, I think you’d like her.”

Jerrie grinned at that, "Protective.  I now remember that bit."  Coricopat moved over, perching himself off to one side, still watching the exchange quietly.

Macavity huffed. “Course I’m protective. Not that she needs it, but you would be too.”

Jerrie shrugged slightly, looking at the supplies Mistoffelees had for the sushi and suddenly changing his topic, "Is that a blow-torch?"

Now Mistoffelees rolled his eyes. “Yes, because I happen to like the rolls that are torched.”

"And you have sake?"

 “Yes?” Mistoffelees said slowly.

"No.  You and blow torches and sake are not allowed near each other," Jerrie protested, setting Oscar down.

Macavity considered that, arching an eyebrow. “Please,” Mistoffelees drawled. “How about I do the blow torch ones before I start drinking sake. You’ll live with that?”

"I guess.  You lit my girlfriend on fire last time there was sake involved."

That earned a long blink from Coricopat.

Mistoffelees scowled. “I did not light your girlfriend on fire!”

"You did too!  There were flames, and she broke up with me right there!"

 “I lit her purse on fire,” Mistoffelees said, pulling the rice toward himself.

"And it was sitting right next to her.  And I had to drive her home," Jerrie was anything but convinced.

 “Well, that wasn’t really my fault,” Mistoffelees said, looking down.

"That I had to drive her home or that you lit her purse on fire?"

 “She should have known better then to insult the person holding the blow torch,” Mistoffelees said primly before gesturing toward the seat and Macavity. “Sit.”

Jerrie rolled his eyes, but glanced at Mac offering him an almost feral grin, "You've never had sushi.  That I believe."

Macavity made a face at him.

Coricopat glanced between the other three, turning his attention to Mistoffelees finally, "You honestly lit her purse on fire because she insulted you?  What on earth did she say?"

 “She called me a slut,” Mistoffelees said after a moment. “And I may have had way too much sake. I’ll admit that but I’d never liked her.”

That earned a long blink from the agent, "A slut?  Really?  I don't see it."

Mistoffelees blinked at him. “You don’t?”

Coricopat rolled a shoulder, "You flirt, sure, but that hardly makes you a slut."

Macavity gave him a long look. “You don’t actually know that,” Mistoffelees pointed out.

"Alright, let me rephrase.  From what I've seen of you, you're loyal to your lover--tenaciously so.  Yes, you flirt, but I have yet to see you act on it."

Mistoffelees looked at him a long moment as he rolled something together, cutting it and plopping it down in front of Macavity. “Vegetable roll. Best option if you don’t want raw fish. Start with that.”

Jerrie watched Mistoffelees carefully during the exchange, pouring some sake for Coricopat and Macavity. Accepting the roll, Macavity considered it. “And raw fish recommendations?”

Glad to be thinking of something else, Mistoffelees rattled a few off, looking around at what he’d bought.

Putting a salmon skin roll in front of Jerrie, Mistoffelees glanced over at Coricopat. “And what would you like?”

"California roll if you have the makings for it," he responded.

 “I have the makings for a lot,” Mistoffelees smiled. “I may have gone overboard.” His hands moved, quickly. “But a California roll is so boring.”

Coricopat offered him something close to a smirk, "Then surprise me if you like, just nothing too spicy."

 “So spicy tuna is out?” Mistoffelees smirked, handing him a roll before making nigiri for Macavity and shoving it over.

"Yes, spicy tuna is out, I'm afraid," the lead agent rejoined, turning some part of his attention to the roll.

Mistoffelees smiled faintly. “Well, I’ll work on getting you there,” he said, glancing at Macavity who had a surprised expression on his face.

Jerrie glanced at Macavity sidelong, grinning, "Enjoying it?"

 “Surprisingly yes,” Macavity said.

“Now we teach you etiquette,” Mistoffelees laughed. “And chopsticks.”

Jerrie's grin turned a bit more feral, "Oh this'll be fun."

Laughing again, Mistoffelees gave Macavity a crooked grin and Macavity turned his gaze quickly to Coricopat, arching a brow slightly. Coricopat smiled faintly, but barely gave Macavity more than a glance in reassurance.

Macavity glanced over, saying softly as Mistoffelees turned back to the blow torch. “Do you think that’s the smile Griddlebone meant. ‘Cause I’ve never seen it before.”

Coricopat glanced from Mistoffelees to Macavity and back before nodding, "Yeah, that's the one."

 “Huh,” Macavity said, turning back to where Mistoffelees was trying to tell him how to use the chopsticks.

Coricopat kept his attention on Mistoffelees, though he glanced at Jerrie when the other man shot him a long look that bordered on a glare.  An arched eyebrow from thee agent earned nothing more than a shrug.

Jerrie startled as the phone he'd forgotten he'd purchased two days ago with cash buzzed against his hip, "Ah, excuse me.  Gotta take this."  He stood up and stepped out onto the balcony, pulling the door closed even as he started talking, "What do you hear?"

 “That man you were looking for?” the voice said on the other end. “He’s FBI.”

"You're sure?"  His gaze darted to the agents sitting at Mistoffelees' dining room table.

 “Course I’m sure,” the other end huffed. “Otherwise I wouldn’t have come to you with this.”

"How high up?  Where in the suits ranks?"  Jerrie asked softly, turning his back on the windows to avoid the possibility of lip reading.

 “I don’t know, I just know it’s the FBI. More than that is going to cost more than even you’re willing to pay.”

The red head grimaced, "Alright, alright.  I'll get the last of your payment to you at the second drop on 5th by six tomorrow."

 “Good,” the other said and the line clicked off.

Jerrie stared at the phone for a long moment before slipping back inside, a good deal more subdued than he had been.  He paused, watching Mistoffelees and how relaxed the other seemed.  He'd actually been smiling earlier, and Jerrie really didn't want to be the reason that broke tonight.

Except Mistoffelees glanced up. “Jerrie?” he asked softly, finishing a roll and setting it in front of Coricopat without looking. “What is it?”

The red head offered him a faint smile, his gaze darting between the two agents, "Can I talk to you outside for a minute, Misto?"

 “Sure,” he said, glancing at the agents and moving toward the balcony.

Jerrie held the door, closing it firmly behind them and leading Mistoffelees away from the light of the windows, "My contact just called."

 “You know they’re going to be really suspicious of this, right?” Mistoffelees said, frowning at him. “What did the contact say?”

"Well they can be really suspicious of this because I don't trust either of them," Jerrie muttered.  "He said that the person who has Pounce works for the FBI, Misto."

For a long moment he didn’t respond. “With the FBI,” Mistoffelees rasped.

"That's what he said.  I'm sorry, M."

 “But, _who_ , which branch, which...” Mistoffelees shook his head, tone edging toward desperation.

"He didn't say.  Said it would cost more than we could afford to find out and he wasn't going to do so," Jerrie murmured, still making sure they were in shadow enough so their conversation couldn't be seen.

 “But,” Mistoffelees started, voice catching and he looked over the city, bracing his hands on the railing. “Fuck.”

"I'm sorry.  Do you want me to find some reason to chase them off tonight?"

 “Because then they’d be really suspicious,” Mistoffelees barked off a short laugh. “It’s late already, Macavity knows how to use a chopstick. Just a little while longer.”

"I could claim some friend of ours died.  Or something," Jerrie offered.

Mistoffelees shook his head, turning and gliding back inside, every shield and mask he had up and in place. Jerrie took a long moment to steel himself before following. 

Coricopat glanced up as they re-entered, "Everything alright?"

 “Fine,” Mistoffelees drawled and Macavity looked up from where he was practicing with a chopstick.

The lead agent looked skeptical, but didn't press the issue, his grey gaze darting to Jerrie who gave him a look that pretty clearly read "back off."

Mistoffelees tried making another roll and realized his hands were shaking, looking up to find everyone watching him.

“Do you want us to leave?” Macavity asked, really wanting to know what happened but also knowing better then to push it.

Coricopat checked his watch, "It's getting rather late anyhow.  Perhaps we should leave you in peace for the rest of the night?"

Jerrie bit back the urge to tell them both that yes they should and while they were at it they could go jump off the balcony.

Mistoffelees blinked. “No, it,” he swallowed. “If you would.”

The lead agent rose, picking his coat up from the back of his chair, "Of course.  Thank you for dinner, Mistoffelees."

 “You’re welcome,” he said, laying his hands flat to keep them from shaking, watching Coricopat and imagining every reason he could have for keeping Pounce away.

Grey eyes met hazel briefly, before Coricopat turned to Macavity, "You set?"

“Yeah,” Mac said, rising. “Thank you for making sure I’m not a public embarrassment.”

Mistoffelees nodded.

pulled on his coat before exiting, waiting for Macavity in the hall outside and heading down to the car.

Jerrie watched them go before he moved to help clean up. When Mistoffelees dropped a plate, he gave up, shoving anything that would spoil in the fridge and sitting down on the side of the bed, pulling his knees to his chest.

Jerrie finished moving the dishes and things to the sink before he moved over, "Do you want me to stay or go?"

“Stay,” Mistoffelees mumbled. “I shouldn’t be surprised. Why am I surprised?”

"You shouldn't be?  It came outta left field for me," Jerrie remarked, sitting down on the edge of the bed near his friend.

 “The moment I start to trust someone it goes south, doesn’t it?” Mistoffelees glanced over at him. “Actually you were probably right. Maybe falling in love with someone _is_ the worst case scenario.”

"You don't know it's him," the other protested.  "And...wait, you're not...the smile."  His green eyes darted to Mistoffelees in concern.

"I don't know," Mistoffelees muttered. "I don't know anything."

"Misto, you were _smiling_ tonight.  I haven't seen that smile in years."

"I smile," Mistoffelees protested, sound faint. "Plenty. I have since getting out of prison."

Jerrie looked at him for a long moment, "You smile, but you don't mean it."

"I," Mistoffelees started, pulling his knees tighter to his chest.

His friend sighed, "What are you going to do?"

"Well," he said after a pause. "Tomorrow, I'm going to go to work. And I'm going to keep doing that. And I'm going to figure out who the hell has Pounce so scared."

Jerrie nodded at that, "Alright.  I'll keep working, see if I can find another channel that'll tell us anything more."

"Thank you," Mistoffelees murmured, tilting his head down and resting his forehead on his knees.

Hesitating, the redhead reached over and ran a hand over Mistoffelees' hair, repeating the motion a few times. Breath catching, Mistoffelees scooted over, pressing himself against Jerrie's side. "Just..."

Jerrie stayed silent as he continued to stroke the smaller man's hair, wrapping an arm around him.

"Jerrie?" Mistoffelees said after a moment. "How many field offices does the FBI have?"

"Fifty-six.  And that's not including resident agencies," Jerrie answered, not having to think about it.

"That's a lot of suspects," Mistoffelees said, letting out a deep breath.

"How do you draw him out?"

"I don't," Mistoffelees shook his head. "Whoever it is, it's his move."

Jerrie looked skeptical, not saying that they'd let the guy have a hell of a lot of moves so far already, but nodded after a moment, "Alright.  His move."

"I just," Mistoffelees started. "I don't know how to help Pounce if he won't let me."

"He's worried about you.  Says he loves you, and if he doesn't trust the FBI--good reason too--then he can't come in."  Jerrie glanced at Mistoffelees' tracking anklet.

Mistoffelees' face twisted. "He wouldn't even talk to me."

Jerrie's arm tightened around his shoulders, "He said he loved you, wish I could offer more, but it's what he said.  Maybe he was worried 'bout getting caught."

"He said it," Mistoffelees agreed. "But... what if he didn't mean it?"

"You don't know he didn't mean it," the other argued, though considering how little he'd ever trusted Pounce and the man's word he wondered why he was arguing for him, beyond how broken Mistoffelees was looking.

"I don't know," Mistoffelees said, voice tiny. "I just don't know anything except that tomorrow I'll have to deal with this and find some way to keep pretending everything is fine."

"You'll make it.  We'll get to the bottom of all of this."

Mistoffelees nodded, pressing closer. "Alright."

w-w-w-w

Coricopat arrived at Mistoffelees' apartment the next morning, knocking lightly on the door and leaning against the wall outside to wait for the other.

Dragging himself over, Mistoffelees propped open the door. "Hey."

"Hey.  You set yet?"

"Yeah, give me a minute," Mistoffelees murmured, running a hand through his hair to get it to lay down before retreating to find a hat, Oscar sitting on the table and meowing as his human walked by.

Coricopat pushed the door open, but didn't enter any further than to lean in the doorway, "How are you doing this morning?"

Mistoffelees didn't look at him, scratching behind Oscar's ears as he put a grey fedora on with the other hand. "I'm vertical," he said, finally.

Coricopat nodded very slightly, "Sometimes that's all we can ask."

"Well if you were inclined to ask for more, you'd be disappointed," Mistoffelees said softly and glanced over.

"What's happened, Mistoffelees?"  The agent asked quietly.

"What do you mean?" he returned, shutting off again and withdrawing, even as he walked toward the other.

"I mean..."  Coricopat sighed, shaking his head, "Nothing."  The other had seemed to be doing so well the previous evening before Jerrie had spoken to him, and the number of scenarios that Coricopat could think to cause the change was nearly endless.

Mistoffelees considered him. "Have you ever figured out how to tell if someone is lying to you?"

The brunet glanced at him, "It depends on the person, but I can usually tell, yes."

"How?" Mistoffelees asked, bracing himself back on one foot.

"It's mostly in the body language.  Something will shift slightly.  Where their eyes go when you ask them a question, things like that.  It's a matter of finding a person's tells.  Why do you ask?"  Coricopat arched an eyebrow.

"Just thinking," Mistoffelees said after a moment. "There's a lot of lying going on in the FBI after all."

"There always is.  What brought this on?"

"Nothing," Mistoffelees said, shaking his head and heading out the door. "What do we have today?"

The agent didn't believe him for a moment, and concern spiked in his mind, though whether for Mistoffelees or for whatever he was digging for he wasn't sure.  "We've got a suspected jewelry heist this morning, we'll be headed down to fourteen and ninth."

"That's the Le Joyau Precieux," Mistoffelees said, eyebrow shooting up. "Now I'm intrigued."

"The most expensive boutique in the city...Of course you'd know it," Coricopat muttered as they reached the car.

"Of course," Mistoffelees agreed.


	15. Any Skeletons?

They arrived at the boutique a short while later, Coricopat entering and looking around, "Quite the place...It's like Buckingham Palace, good god."  He held his hand out to the manager, "Agent Coricopat Zimmerman."

"I've been to Buckingham Palace," Mistoffelees said, looking around, "This is better."

The manager approached. "Glad you could get here so soon Agent Zimmerman."

"Of course.  Now, if you could tell us what actually happened?  You were rather vague on your phone call."

"We need to keep it discrete," the manager replied. "I assume you've heard about the promotion you're running?"

Coricopat nodded once, "A display of the most exotic pink diamond in the world."

Mistoffelees' eyebrows went up. "Forty two carats Steinmetz Pink, set in platinum."

The manager nodded. "It may have been stolen."

"You think it might be a forgery?" Mistoffelees asked, glancing at the model wearing the diamond.

"What makes you think it's a fake?"  Coricopat asked, looking toward the model.

"Come with me," the manager said, motioning them to follow, even as Mistoffelees considering the diamond, leaning toward it from where the live model was wearing it.

Coricopat frowned at that, his eyes narrowing slightly, catching Mistoffelees by the arm and pulling him along with them.  They entered the security room, the tapes already to the point the manager wished to show them. Mistoffelees blinked at Coricopat but followed him easily.

"When I arrived this morning, everything was as it should be. We removed the necklace from the vault and opened the show today as planned. Later, when we were doing our mandatory review of last night's security tapes, we saw this," she said.

"Saw what?" Mistoffelees asked and frowned.

"That's your vault?"  Coricopat leaned closer to the screen as the tape was played.

"Yes," she nodded. "The necklace was stored there for ten hours between its arrival last night and the opening of the show this morning," she said, as the tape showed a masked man enter the vault.

"That's your clue there?  Why is the necklace still on the model?"  The agent turned, demanding an answer.

"It's opening day," she returned, sounding miffed. "This is the promotional event of the year."

Coricopat didn't look in the least impressed, "I don't care what it is.  You've got a masked man entering your vault.  I'm shutting you down."

The manager sputtered. "You can't--"

"Sorry, he can," Mistoffelees replied, looking slightly shamed to say it.

Coricopat strode out of the security room, already calling Macavity and Bombalurina in from where he'd had them waiting to see what they were dealing with. Bomba arrived, keeping the models over to one side as Macavity ushered everyone else out.

"We're not even positive it's a counterfeit," the manager was protesting. "Our appraiser is still on a plane. If it turns out to be a mistake, the amount of money we'll lose, not to mention our credibility--"

"I've got my own appraiser," Coricopat cut her off, motioning to Mistoffelees.

Mistoffelees nodded, meandering over to the model again and considering the necklace, tilting his head to get a different angle on it. Coricopat tensed at how close he was to the model and her chest, "Is it fake?"

"Is he talking about the necklace?" Macavity asked, leaning over to whisper to Bomba who rolled her eyes.

"It's beautiful work," Mistoffelees said, eyes glancing up at the model and grinning.

"Thank you," she preened.

"I suppose that answers that question," Bomba murmured back.

Coricopat's jaw tightened and he looked at Mistoffelees, "Just take the necklace off of her."

"I'm trying to preserve the crime scene," he said, glancing over.

"It's preserved," the lead agent's voice held a hint of ice in it.

Mistoffelees blinked at him before taking the necklace off the model, considering it closely at several different angles. "No, nope. It's synthetic."

Coricopat drew a deep breath to calm himself, and shake off what felt suspiciously like jealousy, before speaking, "You're sure?  I've never heard of a synthetic pink of that size."

"It doesn't exist," the manager protested.

"The pink's difficult to match," Mistoffelees said with a shrug. "It's only achieved using radiation which creates an extremely fine inclusion within the stone that's virtually impossible to detect. Unless you're looking for it."

The manager just looked panicked. "I don't know how this could have happened. No one knew when the necklace was to arrive or where it was supposed to be stored."

Drawing himself together completely, Coricopat looked to the manager, "I'm going to need alibis from everyone who worked here and anybody who knew the diamonds were in the vault.  What about our boy with the mask, you have surveillance on how he got in?"

"Our security cameras only record what happens on the floor and in the vault itself. We don't... record the hallways and we have a backdoor. But the alarm was never triggered. He must've tampered with the system."

"You think he hacked the alarm?"  He glanced at Mistoffelees, where the other was flirting with the model, "Hey, hacked the alarm?"

"Yeah, it's possible," Mistoffelees said, glancing over but not moving over like he usually would. "If you can find the camera's blind spots you can speak past."

The agent arched an eyebrow, "That what you would do?"

"It's one option," Mistoffelees said with a shrug.

Coricopat nodded very slightly, "Alright, I'm going to confiscate your security tapes, the necklace--"

"And probably need the models for further questioning," Mistoffelees said and glancing back at the model. "What's it like to model anyway? It must be fun, especially walking around those cat walks--"

The brunet agent tensed, his eyes narrowing, "And if we do I'm sure you will provide us with the contact information.  I see no reason to bring any of your girls in today."  His gaze darted back to Mistoffelees, "Caffrey."

"Yes?" he asked, tilting his head to the side.

"We need to head back.  Macavity and Bomba will finish up here."

Mistoffelees glanced once more at the models, some sort of longing in his eyes before he nodded, trailing after Coricopat with his hands shoved into his pockets.

Coricopat was silent the entire drive back to the offices and most of the following hour as well, beyond making sure ERT was looking over the alarm system.  He was absolutely not jealous, no matter how beautiful some of those models might have been.  He had no cause for jealousy.  Especially not when it came to Caffrey.

Mistoffelees glanced over at him, over a file. "Okay, seriously, you. What is it?"

The agent glanced at him, "I have no idea what you're talking about."

Mistoffelees glared at him. "You've been... brooding. You almost scared Macavity out of here earlier when he brought the report and coffee. You're lucky it wasn't a junior agent or they'd request a transfer."

"If junior agents can't take that, they're welcome to go to Vlask and try for a transfer," Coricopat answered simply, taking a drink of said coffee as he avoided the comment about him brooding.

"At this point I would be willing to ask for one," Mistoffelees muttered, looking back at the file.

The agent glanced at him again, "Have I really been that bad?"

"You're getting there," Mistoffelees said, glancing away.

"You were flirting with someone who could very well be a suspect, how did you expect me to act?"  Coricopat frowned.

"I've flirted with plenty of suspects."

"We usually know they are though.  What was that at the boutique?" Coricopat asked, trying to keep his tone even.

"What was...?" Mistoffelees frowned. "Which bit of it?"

"The overt flirting.  It wasn't necessary and was frankly uncalled for."

"Is flirting... ever called for?" Mistoffelees asked, eyes shutting off like he slammed a door.

Coricopat looked him over for a long moment, before shaking his head and turning his attention back to the file in front of him, "Probably not."

Looking at him for a moment Mistoffelees slammed the file down, and ignoring his almost full cup of coffee rose to get a new one, barely managing not to slam the glass door after him.

The lead agent sighed heavily, resting his head in his hands.  He was incapable of saying things right, and what he wanted to say was hardly something he should say to the man he'd put in prison and cost his lover.

Moments later Mistoffelees returned, carefully setting his new coffee mug on the table and focusing only on the file in front of him. Coricopat hesitated for a long moment before speaking again, shifting topics completely, "So, ERT's going over the alarm system, but this guy's a pro.  Think they'll find any prints?"

“No," Mistoffelees said, still not looking at him.

"I..."  Coricopat looked up as a broad-shouldered man came up the stairs and made his way over to talk to Sonya Vlask.

"Who is that?" Mistoffelees asked, having followed his eyes.

"I don't know, but Vlask doesn't look happy..."

Mistoffelees' mouth thinned as Macavity strolled in, trying to look casual. "OPR's here."

"And that explains it," Coricopat muttered, closing the file in front of him.

"OPR?" Mistoffelees asked, a furrow appearing between his eyebrows.

"Office of Professional Responsibility.  The police have internal affairs, we have OPR," Coricopat explained, really hoping he could stay in the conference room, as uncomfortable as it was dealing with Mistoffelees at the moment.

Macavity cleared his throat. "Vlask wants you in his office."

The lead agent sighed, finally rising, "Of course."  With that he slipped out of the conference room and into his boss' office.  "You wanted to see me, sir?"

Sonya nodded, looking displeased at the man across from him. "Agent Zimmerman, this is agent Growltiger"

"OPR," Coricopat murmured before he could stop himself.

The OPR agent looked at him, "News travels fast."

"Yes it does."

"So far as anyone knows he's just here for a standard review," Sonya said, glancing between them, before burying his expression in a coffee mug.

Coricopat's brow arched skeptically at that, "Because that line works so well.  No body's going to buy that bridge today."  He glanced at the file in Growltiger's hands, tensing, "That's my file."

"Yes, it is.  It’s impressive work.  Wanted to talk to you about the case that you’re currently investigating," the other responded, still seated while Coricopat stood.

"The jewelry heist.  Why?"

Growltiger locked eyes with him, "Well, the only people that knew that diamond was going to be placed in the vault the night before the show were a few NYPD brass and a handful of FBI agents."

"You think it's an inside job.  And you already have a suspect, don't you?"

"You know where Mistoffelees Caffrey was last night?" came the response.

Coricopat bit back the first responses he had to that, turning o Sonya with a frown, "Am I being interrogated here?"

"No," Sonya said, frowning at Growltiger.

Coricopat nodded once in acknowledgement, before turning back to the OPR agent, "Look, this whole thing is a waste of time.  Caffrey didn’t do it.  He wears an electronic monitoring anklet.  It records everywhere he goes.  Just pull it up."

"Yeah, we did that. And some of Caffrey's data is missing from last night," Growltiger answered.

Grey eyes skimming over the other, looking for any possible tell, Coricopat's brow arched, "Missing?"

"Went dark for six hours."

"Well, that's impossible.  That anklet can't be tampered with."  He needed specific times, he could provide an alibi for the evening, but not without probably landing in more trouble than it was worth.

"No, it can't," Growltiger agreed, "but evidently the database where the information is stored can be.   Someone wiped out six hours of tracking data."

Jaw tensing, the slender brunet narrowly avoided scowling, "Then I suggest that you look around the U.S. Marshall's office because they're the people who monitor that anklet."

"When was it?" Sonya asked, frowning. "If you want us to investigate this, you have to be more specific."

"The blackout is from about 9:30 til 3:30 this morning."

Coricopat bit back the urge to swear, he could vouch for the first hour and a half of that, but that still left four and a half hours unaccounted for.  He'd need to talk to Jerrie.  He addressed his next comment to Vlask, "Sir, you can't honestly think that Caffrey would jeopardize what he has here by doing something like this."

Sonya frowned, taking another swallow of coffee. "I don't know. It doesn't seem to suit him."

"All I'm saying is, don't blind yourself to the very real suspect in your office," Growltiger said pointedly.

Coricopat drew a deep breath and then nodded, "Of course, we'll run down every lead we can.  If that's all, sir?"  He glanced at Vlask for a dismissal.

Sonya nodded. "Get to work."

Nodding once, the agent slipped out of the room and back to the conference room, "Please tell me we've found something to work with."

"There's a really short list of suspects," Mistoffelees said, handing him a file without looking at him. "The best one is already incarcerated."

Coricopat tapped the paper, "This one's dead."

"Then the list got shorter," Mistoffelees shrugged. "Adrian Tulane."

"That makes him our prime suspect," the agent felt a brief sense of relief, if they could just prove it.

"It's a top notch forgery," Mistoffelees said. "Not many people would be capable of it."

"What about you?"  The question slipped off his tongue before he could catch it.

Mistoffelees stared at him a long moment and shrugged. "If allowed near the right equipment. But Tulane is smart and a showman. Cameras don't scare him and he has the facilities. It's his signature all over it."

Coricopat nodded briskly, "Alright, let's go talk to him then."

"Alright," Mistoffelees said, rising and putting his hat back on from where he'd set it by his elbow, glancing at Growltiger on the way out the door. He couldn’t quite place the twist of fear in his stomach as Growltiger watched him, leaning against the banister in front of Sonya’s office.

o-o-o

They reached the address for Tulane's known apartment and Coricopat glanced at Mistoffelees, "What can you tell me about him?"

"He's a legend," Mistoffelees said. "Really well known."

"A legend."  Coricopat just arched an eyebrow, "Don't oversell him."

"I'm not, not really. It would be like you meeting Elliot Ness."

"Elliot--"  He shook his head, still not seeing it as they finally reached the apartment door.  Knocking and entering when a call came for them to come in, Coricopat looked around, blinking slightly at the all white puzzle that a young woman was working on in front of the couch.

Mistoffelees arched a brow at that, pulling his hat off and holding it in front of his chest, nearly straining his neck with looking around.

"Can I help you?" Tulane demanded.

"I certainly hope so," the angular brunet responded.  "I'm Agent Zimmerman with the FBI.  You're Tulane?"

He gave Coricopat a dark look. "Who else would I be?" he asked, spreading his arms out. "You sure know who I am."

"You're right.  I do.  I wanted to ask you a few questions."  His gaze trailed around the apartment, "Are you familiar with--"

"The diamond necklace stolen from Le Joyau Precieux?" Tulane deadpanned, arching a brow.

"Yes.  That."  He sent up a silent plea that the man would have at the very most a shaky alibi.  Probably involving the girl working on the white puzzle.

"Whenever something like this happens, I get a visit from someone like you," he said, handing Coricopat an envelope. "You'll find plane tickets confirming I arrived in the country this morning. Oh, you're going to love the photos from my trip to Madrid last week. Anything else?"

Coricopat's expression was impassive as he accepted the envelope, "No.  We'll be in touch."  He glanced at Mistoffelees, arching an eyebrow very slightly.

Mistoffelees' mouth thinned as they walked toward the door.  "Thoughts?"  Coricopat asked under his breath.

"He's very slippery."

"Let's hope he's guilty too," Coricopat said, fingers tracing along the envelope’s seal.

Mistoffelees nodded as they reached the door, pausing when Tulane called out.

"Hey, man," Tulane said, leaning over the edge of the couch. "Just curious, the uh, Afitizi job did you--" he paused as he looked at Coricopat. "Right, right. I love your alleged work. Big fan."

Mistoffelees flushed, smiling. "Thanks," he said, tipping the edge of his hat to Tulane before stepping down the stairs.

The agent frowned, but followed Mistoffelees, staying quiet until they were on the street again, "Well, that was a bust."

"You sound disappointed," Mistoffelees said, glancing over. "This is the part you like. Moving the pieces and solving the puzzle."

"I am moving the pieces.  I just don't like how they're moving," came the response.  He waited until they were in the car before he spoke again, "What time did Jerrie leave last night?"

Mistoffelees paused, glancing over. "He didn't."

"So you have an alibi then."  The line of his shoulders relaxed very slightly.

Mistoffelees frowned. "Not sure anyone would count Jerrie as an alibi. Why the hell would I need a--" he stopped. "I'm on the list of suspects aren't I?"

Coricopat kept his gaze on the road, "He's your _only_ alibi.  Do not dismiss him at this point."

"That would require Jerrie talking to someone in the FBI, Coricopat. He might talk to you, he might talk to Macavity. But he wouldn't go into the office or court. Why does it matter I have an alibi for this one? Doesn't the tracking data take care of that?"

"It's missing.  Six _hours_ of it is missing," he responded.  "And I can't verify most of the time it's missing for."

Mistoffelees gaped at him. "It's _missing_?" he asked, voice pitching higher at the end.

Coricopat nodded once, tensing again, "Yes.  Six hours.  I can vouch for an hour and a half.  It might put my position at the bureau in line for suspension, but it does no good if we can't prove beyond a shadow of a doubt that the other four and a half hours weren't spent breaking into that vault."

Mistoffelees' hands clenched. "I thought the point of this damn thing was that you wouldn't suspect me."

Pulling to a stop at a stop sign, Coricopat turned to face him, ignoring the comment for the moment, "Did you do it?"

"No!" Mistoffelees snapped, thinking about the headache behind his eyes from where he'd cried into Jerrie's side that evening.

The agent nodded slightly, "Then we find who did.  And we find them quickly before they make me investigate you, or OPR starts digging into why I'm not investigating you."

"You--you won't?" Mistoffelees asked, glancing over in surprise.

"I'll set Macavity to looking for your signature, but only because I do not want to deal with OPR staring over my shoulder during this investigation," he answered honestly.  "I don't think you did it.  But our best, and frankly only, suspect just handed me tickets that got him in from Madrid after the robbery."

Mistoffelees considered him a moment before nodding. "Alright."

"This whole thing feels off.  We're missing something.  Something crucial," Coricopat sighed.

"We almost always are," Mistoffelees sighed, pulling his hat off enough to run a hand through his hair before setting the fedora back on.

The agent sighed again as they pulled up in front of headquarters, "Alright.  We find something on Tulane that doesn't line up, and we'll make it stick.  Even if I have to bring him in on tax evasion," his lips quirked up wryly.

"How Elliot Ness of you," Mistoffelees murmured, trying to return the smile.

"Come on, a few more hours and then I'll take you home," he said, starting for the elevator.

Swallowing, Mistoffelees nodded. "Okay. I can do that."

o-o-o-o

Jerrie was perched on Mistoffelees' couch when the other got home that evening, some 60's B-movie playing on the tv.  He glanced up, "Hey.  How'd it go today?"

Mistoffelees dropped his coat, and gathered Oscar up before sinking into the couch. "Well, there's been a heist that everyone seems more then set on blaming on me. So... well."

"What an irony.  Looking into you while we look into them.  Does the suit think you did it?"  Jerrie reached for the remote and shut off the movie.

"No," Mistoffelees shook his head. "It was last night. Someone wiped out my tracking information. By the way, you're my only alibi."

"Well, I was here all night.  I can't go to court, you know that, but I'll tell the suit that if you need me to," Jerrie allowed after a moment.

Mistoffelees made a face. "I know. We already went over it, the suit and I."

"Alright.  Well, like I said if he asks I'll tell him."

Mistoffelees nodded, scratching Oscar behind the ear. "Have you checked into the FBI at all yet?"

“Spent all day doing so.  I started with Zimmerman's boss, Vlask.  This guy's a legend.  Been with the FBI for twenty-five years.  They were forced to make him retire, but they found a loop hole and brought him back."  Jerrie shook his head, "That would really bite."

Mistoffelees couldn't help but grin. "That sounds like Vlask. Any skeletons?"

"Nada.  I checked that Agent Ruiz who handles organized crime.  There's a man with skeletons, but I don't think he's smart enough.  Checked Hollister, but I knew most of his already.  In fact his closet's pretty clean if you don't count the juvie record.  Also checked into what's her name, lady suit, um....Smith?  First name starts with a B.  Anyhow, not much there either--did you know she's living with Zimmerman's sister?"

Making a face, Mistoffelees nodded. "Yes, I did finally find that one out. She came in the other day."

"What's she like?"  Jerrie glanced at him, looking for a topic as he still considered the last major person he'd looked into.

"Tantomile? She runs a gallery. So she doesn't like me much for that reason. But she can get her brother to shut up so at least she's in my good books for that."

That got a quiet laugh, "Well it's something.  Alright, so I also checked out this agent over in OPR.  Name's Growltiger."  Jerrie shook his head, "Not an easy guy to find stuff on."

"Did you find anything?" Mistoffelees asked, glancing over.

"Used to work violent crimes for the bureau.  His wife was killed during a robbery and he took a year of leave.  Then he joined OPR and suddenly his files were sealed," the redhead rattled off.

"Sealed?" Mistoffelees asked with a frown. "He showed up awfully fast after the robbery."

"Have a ring?"  Jerrie glanced at his friend.  It couldn't be that easy could it?

Mistoffelees shook his head. "Not that I saw."

"Tan line?"

"No," Mistoffelees said, smoothing a hand down Oscar's back, getting a purr from the little tuxedo. "But that doesn't mean it's not him."

"We'd really better hope it's not.  OPR is like a giant, sucking black hole. Accountable only to the DOJ."

"DOJ? You mean the department of justice?"

"Yeah, of course the DOJ is just a euphemism for the military industrial complex," Jerrie responded seriously.

"And big oil too?" Mistoffelees offered, arching a brow at him.

“That goes without saying," came the quick reply.

Mistoffelees glanced at him again. "So, you're not going to ask if I did it?"

"You said that it was last night that you would have?"  Jerrie glanced at him.

Mistoffelees paused and laughed softly. "I've just gotten used to everyone wanting to blame me."

"I know where you were al last night.  Besides, you really think I'd think you'd try something like that while you need to be close to the FBI to stay outta prison?"

Mistoffelees gave him a look. "You're the only one who seems to have that faith in me."

Jerrie blinked at him, "Why wouldn't I?"

"Just makes you unique is all."

"I'm good with unique."

"Thanks," Mistoffelees said, rewarding him with a squirming Oscar.

Jerrie took the kitten, who had been growing rapidly, in hand, and started scratching behind the little tuxedo cat's ears, "Any time."

o-o-o-o

Mistoffelees' phone rang the next morning at the same time that Coricopat was usually knocking on his door.

Tying his tie, Mistoffelees paused, picking it up and jamming it between his shoulder and ear. "Hello?"

"Mistoffelees.  They found your initials in the diamond," Coricopat's voice was hushed, the words coming quick.  "Growltiger's on his way to your apartment as we speak."

Mistoffelees froze. "He... _what_?"

"Your signature from the bonds showed up in the diamond.  You need to get out of there.  He just left, you've got ten minutes probably at the maximum."

"Coricopat, I didn't--I swear to you I didn't--"

"The evidence is damning, but if I thought you did do you really think I'd be calling you to tell you to go on the run?"  He hesitated for a moment, "Cut the anklet.  Promise me you won't leave Manhattan and you'll keep in contact with me, but lose the anklet."

Mistoffelees swallowed. "Where do you want me to go?"

"Contact Jerrie, get him to hide you for the moment.  Or come to my apartment.  Best not to do the second until tonight, they'll likely check there today," Coricopat answered quickly.

Opening his mouth to say something, Mistoffelees paused before replying differently. "Okay. I'll be there tonight."

"Good.  Now get out of there."

Mistoffelees dropped the phone down, cutting his anklet and leaving it on the table before grabbing Oscar and bolting, stopping only long enough to pick up a burner phone to call Jerrie.

Jerrie answered as soon as his phone rang, "Herbert Wells.  Who's this?"

"Jer, it's Misto. I have Oscar and I need somewhere to hide until tonight."

"Hide?  Oscar?"  He hesitated, "Where are you now?"

"Walking away from my home very quickly as the feds are approaching to arrest me," Mistoffelees replied, shifting Oscar who mewed in annoyance at him.

"Avenue C.  You know my place there?  No carpets or upholstery for him to shed on.  I'll meet you there in two hours, I'm onto something regarding that OPR agent."

"Great," Mistoffelees said. "I'll see you there." As carefully as he could while holding Oscar he wiped the prints off the phone and dumped it.

Jerrie arrived at his hide hole exactly two hours later, carrying a plastic bag of something, "They find something incriminating then?  Or just take it into their heads to make life uncomfortable?"

"Apparently they checked my signature on the bonds and it matched whatever signature ended up in the diamond," Mistoffelees said, from where he was sitting on the floor playing with Oscar and a shoe string. "What'd you find?"

Jerrie set the bag down, "His latest shredding.  He doesn't use one of those multi-blade ones, so it just cuts them into strips.  Kinda stupid, if you ask me, but you up for jigsaw puzzles for a while?"

"I can do that," Mistoffelees agreed. "I've always liked puzzles."

Sitting cross-legged across from his friend, Jerrie pulled a handful of shredded paper out, "How'd you find out?"

"Coricopat called me," Mistoffelees replied, emptying the rest of the bag and shifting through it to find any like colored papers, rising to fetch a glue stick and a note pad.

"...The suit called you to tell you the other suits were coming?  And I'm the only one who has confidence in you?"

"Well," Mistoffelees paused. "Apparently I was wrong. It won't be the first time and probably not the last either."

"Well, let's see if we can figure out what this guy's hiding first, then we'll worry about everything else," Jerrie decided.

Mistoffelees considered him over shredded paper. "What else is there to worry about?"

"I never know.  Always figure there's something though.  Like maybe proving you didn't steal the diamond." Not looking like he believed him, Mistoffelees nodded, working on the sheet quietly.


	16. I Can Work With That

Once it was dark, Mistoffelees left Oscar and Jerrie in the hide hole, leaving with several sheets of phone transcripts they had pieced together.

He noticed a tail waiting in front of Coricopat's door, slipping into the apartment building as a repairman and making his way to Coricopat's flat, lock picking the door since the agent wasn't home yet.

Coricopat arrived almost an hour later, hesitating outside his door before entiring.  He locked the door behind him, turned on the lights and moved over to shut the curtains in his front room.  The curtains were thick enough to cut the effect of the light for casting shadows outside--he'd intentionally bought them for that purpose.

Mistoffelees glanced up from where he was sitting against the kitchen wall. "Hey."

The agent startled very slightly, having been expecting the other, but not necessarily expecting to come home to him, "Hello, I see you made it here in one piece.

"Got here as early as I could without having to worry about them tailing you," Mistoffelees said, with a faint smile. "How was work, honey?"

The brunet let a faint smile turn up the corners of his lips as he shook his head, "Work was a pain in the ass.  They seem convinced they've got everything they need and so refuse to look at anyone else--I had Bomba check out Tulane anyhow.  His alibi is good.  Too good."

"He's probably hiding something," Mistoffelees said. "You get to be a legend because you're good at hiding." He looked at the files in his lap. "What about the OPR guy. Growltiger?"

"Well, our interactions devolved into a fight sometime around one today.  I spent the rest of the day working from my office and he spent it working from the conference room per Vlask's orders."

Mistoffelees arched a brow. "What was the fight about?"

He hesitated for a moment, before offering a slightly sheepish glance, "You, honestly."

Mistoffelees' eyes widened. "W--what about?"

"His automatic assumption that the evidence wasn't planted, and me being apparently too close to the case."

"Well, you are rather close to the case, but then again so is he," Mistoffelees said with a shrug, trying to dismiss the shock that had made him stutter.

"Is he?"  Coricopat arched an eyebrow, considering the smaller man.  "What did you find?"

"He shredded a lot of documents," Mistoffelees said, handing him the first of the pile he had. "How did you find out about the heist this morning?"

Coricopat reached out to take the papers, "Macavity called me, why?"

"He called you from home right?" Mistoffelees said. "Cause there's the transcript."

The agent's eyes narrowed at the paper, reading it over quickly, "Any other transcripts beyond this?"

"All from Mac's phone. Also, you said you checked my signature. Did anyone else?"

"What do you mean?  I had Mac do it, but beyond that I don't know."

"Check tomorrow, would you?"

"I'll see what I can find."  He frowned at the transcripts, "This is going to need to be dealt with."

"Mac has a cell?" Mistoffelees asked.

"He does.  No transcripts from that one?  Grids does as well."

"Call Grids' cell phone," Mistoffelees said. "It might be safer. The window of this crime means this isn't an authorized bug."

Coricopat nodded once, picking up his phone and dialing Grids' number.  When she picked up he greeted her and asked to speak to Mac.  After a moment in which he wouldn't exactly explain why he was calling on her phone she finally handed it to her husband.

"What's up?" Macavity asked moments later.

"Tell him to talk outside," Mistoffelees murmured.

Coricopat nodded, "Mac, I need to talk to you, but you need to step outside first."

Macavity paused before slipping out onto the porch. "Hey, what the hell is up?"

"I've been handed phone transcripts.  They're off your phone."

"My," Macavity paused and sputtered. " _My_ phone?"

"That's sure what it looks like." He flipped through the papers.  "Home phone, not the cell from what I can tell."

"Jesus fuck," Macavity swore. "Who tapped it? This can't have been legal and--oh my god they were in my house! They were in my _house_!" He realized his voice had pitched high enough for the neighbors to hear and took a long breath, trying to push the anger and fear and betrayal at someone infiltrating the one place he still considered safe down.

"Illegal wouldn't be a tap.  Check the phone for bugs, and yes.  We'll have someone sweep the house for you, can't go through the bureau for it though..."  He glanced at Mistoffelees, arching an eyebrow in silent question.

"Jerrie always like an excuse to bring out his equipment," Mistoffelees grinned and Macavity paused on the other end of the line.

"Is Caffrey there?" he asked, voice dropping.

Coricopat smirked at the comment regarding Jerrie before turning back to the phone, "Yes."

Macavity considered. "Just tell me he didn't suggest letting Wheeler into my house."

"He did.  Do you have another suggestion, since at this point as I said we can't go through the bureau?"

Macavity just swore. "Fine. Get him over here tomorrow then."

"We'll do our best.  Avoid your phone until then, and anything sensitive waits until you're out of the house, got it?"

"Got it," Macavity agreed. "You don't do anything crazy."

"Crazy?  Like harboring a fugitive?" Coricopat offered, tone wry.

"Crazier," Macavity amended. "Now, if you'll excuse me, my wife and I are going to camp in the backyard tonight."

Coricopat smiled faintly, "Alright.  Be careful, Mac.  I'll see you in the morning."

"At least it's almost Summer," Macavity muttered. "See you tomorrow."

The lead agent hung up, looking over at Mistoffelees, "Well, you'd better contact Jerrie about tomorrow night or as soon as he can get to Mac's."

Mistoffelees glanced back at him from where he had been surveying Coricopat's flat. "Sure. He'll be there in the morning."

"Good.  I am sorry about this mess,” Coricopat said, setting the cell on the table and considering the other man.

"It's not like you planned it," Mistoffelees said, smiling faintly. "But thanks."

"The couch folds out, but do you want that or the main bed tonight?"

Mistoffelees boggled at him. "Oh, I, oh. You want to keep an eye on me?" he asked, having been intending to return to Jerrie's hide out.

"Well, I mean unless you want to slip out past the man Growltiger has posted out watching the building again,” Coricopat said, tone level.

"Point," Mistoffelees said, rising. "Let me call Jerrie about tomorrow. And probably picking up some clean clothes."

"Alright.  Where did you leave the kitten?"

"With Jerrie. Jenny probably could have taken care of him but," he shrugged. "Oscar's with Jerrie." Coricopat nodded slightly, handing the phone over. "Thanks," Mistoffelees said, trying not to consider which bed he was going to end up in too closely.

The agent nodded, going to locate blankets and a pillow for the fold-out.

Mistoffelees sighed, dialing Jerrie's latest burner phone.

Jerrie picked up on the second ring, "Griffen.  Who speaks?"

"Hey. So, I'm staying at the Suit's tonight. Think you can sweep, what are you calling him, Street Suit? Anyway, can you sweep his house tomorrow?"

"Sweep....oh, right.  Is he going to be home?  And wait, you're staying at the Suit's?  You sure that's a good idea?" Jerrie said, trying to catch up mentally with everything Mistoffelees had just said, and in such a casual tone.

"No, I really, really don't. And I have no idea where he'll be. Mrs. Street Suit will probably be there."

"Ah, the illusive woman who would marry the Street Suit.  Good.  I look forward to that meeting.  Good luck tonight, I'll take good care of the little ball of allergens for you."

"He isn't a little ball of allergens," Mistoffelees protested.

"Says you who isn't allergic to him.  I like him, I'm not saying I don't.  He's very cute and cuddly for a ball of allergens."

Mistoffelees laughed. "Feed him, alright?"

"I promise I'll feed him.  You need anything?"

"Clean clothes in the morning," Mistoffelees said. "Please."

"I shall do my best to provide that.  Good luck, M."

"Good luck to you with the ball of allergens," Mistoffelees returned dryly, stomach turning over with all the things he would need luck for.

Jerrie laughed, "G'ngiht."  He hung up.

Mistoffelees turned the phone off and swallowed, staring at the wall. "Did you decide about the bed yet?"

"I'll take the fold out," Coricopat answered.

Mistoffelees blinked at him, jaw dropping slightly before he forced his mouth closed and composure back on his face. "Are you sure?"

The agent glanced at him from where he was wrestling with the hide-a-bed, "Yeah, I'm sure."

"Oh," Mistoffelees said and watched him. "Do you need help?"

He finally remembered which bar actually needed to be pulled on and shook his head as he got the bed snapped out, "No, I got it.  Thanks though."

"Okay," Mistoffelees said.

Coricopat glanced at him as he straightened to spread a blanket over the bed, "Can I get anything for you?"

"Um," Mistoffelees said and considered. "Is there anything in your fridge I'm not supposed to eat?"

"Not that I can think of.  Just leave me enough milk to put in my coffee tomorrow."

"Because Jerrie is great for a hide hole but he's crap for food and I need a meal," Mistoffelees said, carefully articulating his words instead of tripping over them, convincing himself that staying in Coricopat’s bed that night was not something to panic over. "You... do have enough food for a meal right?"

Coricopat nodded, "There's enough for a meal, between the fridge and the pantry that is."

"Have you eaten?" Mistoffelees asked, already moving toward the kitchen and poking around.

"What?  Oh, no, not yet."

Mistoffelees rolled his eyes. "You eat like a bird. Anything you want?"

"Everyone's so concerned with my eating habits," Coricopat muttered.  "Nothing specific, anything in there's something I'll eat."

"It's because I'm sure if I saw you shirtless I'd see your rib cages," Mistoffelees replied glibly.

Coricopat bit back the offer to test that theory as he moved over to lean on the kitchen counter, "You exaggerate.  I'm thin, but I'm hardly that thin."

"I'd hardly know, I've never seen you shirtless," Mistoffelees replied with a shrug. "Oh, organic pasta. I can work with that."

The agent smirked, shaking his head, "Anything I can do to help you with the cooking?"

"Do you have sauce? Or can you make it?" Mistoffelees asked. "You have a complete lack of fresh fruit and vegetables. What's with that?"

"I can make some.  I don't eat here often enough to justify having fruits and vegetables.  They spoil before I get to them."

"That's just sad," Mistoffelees said, considered some canned peaches. "Ugh."

"One night with canned peaches won't kill you I'm sure," Coricopat said dryly as he located the supplies for the sauce he intended to make.

"I'd rather go without," Mistoffelees said, shoving them back on the shelf.

The taller man shook his head, getting started on the Alfredo, "Right.  Of course you would.  My mistake.  Do you want any wine with dinner?"

Mistoffelees gave him a distrustful look. "Is your wine choices as good as your fruit ones?"

Offering him a long look Coricopat rolled his eyes and opened the cabinet where he kept his wines, "No.  Take your pick."

Mistoffelees' eyebrows rose and he whistled. "Okay. That's obviously a no."

"Told you.  Cheap wine is an affront.  It's one of the few things I'll go out of my way to pay for."  Coricopat murmured, "Well, that and some teas."

Mistoffelees laughed, poking around. "Is there any like, side dishes? I'd accept yogurt at this point."

Coricopat checked the fridge and found some adequate sides, "Here we are, and what do you know, it is yogurt..."

"You, sir," Mistoffelees said, pointing at him with a ladle. "Are a travesty."

"I don't eat at home much, I told you that already," The taller man protested with a laugh.

"Doesn't matter, you're still a travesty," Mistoffelees said, returning the laugh before pausing.

Coricopat couldn't help his smile.  He glanced at the other, "Something on your mind?"

"No," he said, turning back to the pasta. "So, when do you get your fruits and veggies then?"

"Lunch, usually.  And any time Grids or Tant insist on feeding me."

“They should do that more often," Mistoffelees said. "I'm just about ready to start insisting on feeding you. I mean, you've already managed to get me to cook for you two nights in a row."

"And you cook very well.  Between the two of them I get fed probably three to four nights a week usually," he admitted.

"They have a system going. I'm proud of them," Mistoffelees said and tried not to flush at the compliment.

Coricopat grinned a bit, gaze darting to Mistoffelees, "If you get tired of your own cooking I'm sure Grids wouldn't mind an extra at dinner.  Tant might at this point, but..."

“She's an art gallery person right?" Mistoffelees said. "Of course she doesn't like me."

"She should come around eventually."

Mistoffelees paused. "I'm sorry, did you just basically say you want your sister to come around eventually?"

"I..."  Coricopat considered, "I suppose I did, yes."  That hadn't been what he'd meant to say, but he couldn't deny some part of him agreeing with it.

Mistoffelees stared at him. "Okay," he said and shook his head slightly. "Strainer?"

The agent located the requested implement and handed it over, taking the sauce off the heat while Mistoffelees drained the pasta. Mistoffelees tried not to think about what exactly he was doing. "Any plans for after dinner?"

"Not really.  I usually settle in with the latest file, or a book.  Or a movie, I do have a few of those."

"I don't believe it," Mistoffelees laughed. "Please tell me they're embarrassing. You own romantic comedies, don't you?"

Coricopat rolled his eyes but chuckled, "I might have one or two of those, joke gifts from my sister, but no they aren't all rom coms."

"Damn," Mistoffelees said and tried to focusing on eating. He had been hungry ten minutes ago, he needed to still be hungry, and he tried to convince himself of that fact instead of letting his stomach turn over.

That garnered another smile as Coricopat turned his attention, at least partially, to his own food.  Having the other in his apartment was throwing him off, and he was pretty sure he hadn't smiled this much in a long time.

After dinner, Mistoffelees rose, taking Coricopat's dishes and washing all of them. "It's late... are you always out this late?"

"Usually, yeah.  If we've got a case going on, at least."

"No wonder you have no life," Mistoffelees rolled his eyes and looked at the clock again.

"Well, as you said, it's late, and I have an early morning tomorrow if we're going to prove you didn't do this."

"Yeah, I'd like to be cleared."

Coricopat nodded, "Give me a minute to get changed and then you can have the bedroom.  Do you want something besides that outfit to sleep in?"

"I can just," Mistoffelees said and flushed. "Uh, sleep in my undershirt."

The agent turned away before his blush could be spotted at that thought, "Alright, give me just a minute."  He slipped into the bedroom and closed the door getting changed and going through his nightly routine quickly.

Watching him, Mistoffelees poured himself another glass of wine before shoving the cork back in. Coricopat emerged a few minutes later, glancing back at the bedroom, "All yours."

Mistoffelees drained the last of the wine, setting the glass down on the counter a bit harder then he meant to. The agent's brow rose at that, but he didn't comment, turning on the lamp next to the couch and shutting off the overhead lights.

Mistoffelees stared at him for a moment, unknotting his tie as he walked and unbuttoning the shirt. "Can I shower?"

Coricopat watched him, his gaze skirting over the other's throat and collarbone, "What?  Oh, yes of course, feel free.  Towels are in the closet there next to the bedroom door."

"Thanks," Mistoffelees muttered.

Hesitating, Coricopat almost asked if something was the matter, but he set the question aside considering everything that had gone wrong over the last twenty four hours.  He turned his attention to straightening his bed for the night and trying not to think about Mistoffelees using his shower or in his bed, "Of course."

Mistoffelees spent an extra long time in the shower. Finally, he stepped back, toweling off and looking around the bathroom. He considered the shampoo and soap by the sink, natural urge to snoop rising. Shaking his head, he tried to shake it off and stopped. He paused, thinking about jewelry. Pulling his undershirt and boxers back on, he opened the mirror and the cabinets. Finding nothing, except possibly more of a knowledge of Coricopat's personal hygiene then he actually wanted to think about.

Meandering back into the bedroom, he poked around the dresser, stopping when he finally came to a jewelry box. Setting it on the dresser he stared at it for a long moment, almost wondering if he shouldn't.

Except the moment he opened it the gold ring was at the top.

Breathe hissing out, he leaned back on his heels. He wanted nothing more than to flee the apartment, and before he could think better of it he palmed the ring and set the jewelry box back into the drawer.

"Fuck," he said, shaking his head and slipping into the bed.

Even with his stomach churning in anger and something like fear, he couldn't help but notice how much the sheets smelled like Coricopat. He didn't sleep all night.

The next morning Mistoffelees stumbled out of the bedroom, still only in his boxers and undershirt. "Fuck. Tell me there is coffee in this place."

Coricopat didn't look up from where he was already in process on brewing the coffee.  He'd given up on getting back to sleep almost an hour before and had spent part of that time reading in the hopes of distracting himself.  The coffee finished and he poured a cup for each of them, "How do you take it?"

Finally glancing up, he paused, blinking.  Mistoffelees looked a wreck, but at the same time there was no denying exactly how handsome he was and...Coricopat was going to entirely blame that train of thought on a lack of caffeine in his system.

"If it's in a cup I'll take it," Mistoffelees replied.

The brunet pushed one of the cups in his direction, pulling his attention away to put milk in his own coffee.

Grumbling something that might have been thanks, Mistoffelees took a long drink, trying with his other hand to smooth his hair down.

"Didn't sleep well then?"  Coricopat asked, leaning against the counter and sipping at his coffee.

"Your bed is very comfortable," Mistoffelees said and blinked. "So, um, there's nothing lacking in your hospitality. But no."

"Was it anything in particular?" he pressed carefully.

Mistoffelees stared at him a long moment over the coffee. "Nightmares," he said, looking away abruptly. It wasn't entire untrue either.

Coricopat's brow arched at that, not believing that was the full case of the matter, but finding it was the end of their conversation on the topic, "Jerrie was bringing you clean clothes this morning, yes?"

"Yeah," Mistoffelees said and glanced down, as if only realizing. "Um, why, you think I shouldn't be seen like this?"

The corner of Coricopat's mouth quirked upward, though he spared Mistoffelees only the barest of glances, "Well, you could, but you'd never live it down."

Mistoffelees smirked. "No, I think I'd just be too distracting."

"Distracting?  Really?"  He tried to keep his tone disinterested, but he wasn't certain he accomplished it.

Swallowing hard, Mistoffelees shrugged. He'd been joking but clearly it hadn't worked. "Maybe. Come now, I'm sure I make quite the picture."

That earned a slight smirk, Coricopat finally looking at him again, "Oh, yes, you really rather do."

Feeling his mouth going dry, Mistoffelees quickly drank more of the coffee. Finishing his coffee, the agent pushed away from the counter, "I need to go shower and get ready for my day.  Make yourself comfortable, I'll be back shortly."

"Okay," Mistoffelees said, sinking down and feeling distinctly uncomfortable.

Coricopat hesitated for a moment before slipping out of the room to get ready.  He exited, tying his tie at about the same time as there was a rapid knock on the door.  The agent froze, glancing toward where Mistoffelees was.

Mistoffelees' eyes snapped to the door. "It's your apartment," he said, rising anyway.

"I know, stay out of sight til I make sure it's Jerrie."  He moved carefully over to the door, checking the peep hole and then opening the door very slightly.  He finally stepped back, letting the red head in. 

Jerrie glanced around, looking more than a little unhappy with being there, but he held out a bag to Mistoffelees, "Your clothes, M."

"You are amazing," Mistoffelees said, entirely meaning it.

That earned a grin, "Yep, that's me.  I gotta head toward Street suit's place, though.  You gonna be alright gettin' yourself outta here?"

"I'll manage, now I have my armor to face the world in," Mistoffelees said, palming Jerrie a note when he took the clothing. "If you'll both excuse me."

Jerrie slid his hands into his pockets, dropping the note there before nodding, "See you later, M.  Stay safe, Oscar needs you 'round tonight."  With those words he slipped out.  Once he was a block away from the apartment, on his way to Mac's he pulled out the note and skimmed it.

_Coricopat has the ring._

Crumpling the note, Jerrie's green eyes went cold and he tossed it into the next garbage can he passed.  Well, that solved that--the only one he hadn't actually looked into was the only one he'd needed to.  See if he left a stone unturned next time Mistoffelees asked him to look for something.

Macavity propped the door open and stared at Jerrie when he arrived. "How is it I avoid you for over ten years and then you pop up twice in forty-eight hours?"

"You know the saying about bad pennies.  Not my fault you're one of them."  Jerrie stepped inside, looking around, "So the phone?"

"No, you're the bad penny, not me," Mac protested and pointed. "The phone. They wouldn't have had the time to do more then drop a bug or two."

"In theory."  He shook his head and moved over to the phone, considering it and finally locating the bug.  He disconnected it, dropping it on the floor and stepping on it.  "Good tech, not cheap, but useless without the receiver.  Pity."  He turned, his green eyes flickering around the room for other likely places, "How long have you known your boss?"

"My boss?" Macavity frowned. "You mean Cor? Or Vlask?"

"Cor."

"Met him at Quantico," Macavity shrugged. "I got recruited out of college and he did about the same time. We've both been on the force just over ten years. Why?" he glanced at the red head, leaning against the kitchen table and crossing his arms over his chest.

Jerrie shrugged, no way was the other getting an honest answer from him, "Just curious.  M's a good friend of mine and I don't trust suits.  Thought I'd ask."

"If you don't trust suits how's my answer going to help?" Macavity asked, his brows quirking upward.

"You're a street suit.  You've got a hair more credibility than someone who's only run the other side of the law."

"Well, so long as it's a hair," Macavity rolled his eyes. "But why ask about Cor cos of Caffrey?"

"Cause they're working together a lot?  And he's the guy who put him in prison."  Jerrie pulled dried hydrangeas out of a vase and tipped the vase over as he checked it for bugs, locating one and crushing it as well.  "I don't like him."

Macavity frowned, first at the bug and then at Jerrie. "That says nothing about him as a person though. That he put Caffrey in jail. Technically I helped too."

Jerrie moved over, rifling through the shelves by the Hollisters' TV, "Yeah, well you were there for sushi.  I don't like what I saw, frankly."

Macavity's brows twitched together. "What did you see?"

"He smiled.  Misto freakin' smiled at him.  More than once."

"And while I actually noticed that, it's a problem?" Macavity asked slowly.

Jerrie turned to face him, green eyes wide, "You don' think it is?"

"Well, it could be a problem for all sorts of reasons," Macavity said, neutrally. “Just wondering which one’s got you in arms.”

"He hasn't smiled like that since he went to prison.  And I want to know if your boss is one to exploit that," Jerrie crossed his arms, staring Macavity down.

"Exploit," Macavity started and blinked. "Uh. No. Not so much. Mostly because Coricopat is thicker than a post and if, _if_ , he noticed he would refuse to figure out the meaning behind it."

Green eyes cold, Jerrie nodded once, "Good."

For a very long moment Macavity just considered him. "So why are you so damned worried?"

"My best, sorry only friend possibly fallin' for the guy who put him in prison.  Why wouldn' I be worried?"

"It could be someone bad for him," Macavity shrugged again. "Besides, it's his choice to make."

Jerrie rolled his eyes, disposing of the last bug--the placement of that one made no sense as there would be too much interference with the sound, "Doesn't mean I can’t ask questions."

"Suppose that's true," Macavity muttered. "I still think you're not giving Cor any credit."

"When I see a reason to give him credit I'll think about giving it to him."  He shook his head, "Your living room's clear of the basic bugs.  You want these or shall I take them?"

"Please," Macavity waved them off. "Take them."

Jerrie grinned, slipping the remains of the bugs into his pocket, "Well, that's that.  Good day."

Macavity gave him a sloppy salute. "See if you cannot turn up again for a while, yeah?"

"Get Misto outta trouble.  Then maybe I won't have to."  He exited, not waiting for a response.

For a moment Macavity just stared at the door. "Great. Okay. That shouldn't be too hard."

o.o.o

Coricopat entered the offices, glancing around and spotting Macavity, "Get everything dealt with?"

Macavity nodded. "With my very own bad penny."

"Well, that's some good news today at least."

"Something like that," Macavity agreed, glancing over at where Growltiger was approaching the office. "Great. How're you doing?"

Coricopat's jaw tensed at the sight of Growltiger, "Doing well as can be expected.  I'll be better once OPR clears out."

Growltiger made his way over, "Zimmerman, you got a minute?"

"Always have a minute for OPR," came the reply, accompanied by a smile.

"I wanted to ask you a hypothetical question, you being so well versed on Caffrey.  If you had to guess, where is he?" Growltiger said, tone mild but with a dark smile behind his eyes.

Coricopat considered before shrugging, "Probably trying to leave the country.  If he hasn't already."

Macavity glanced over. "Yeah. There's nothing really holding him here."

"So you really don't think he'd still be in Manhattan?"  Growltiger looked from one to the other.  "Just want to make sure we're using our resources as reasonably as possible."

"I'd go with roadblocks and wanted posters," Coricopat answered.  He knew Macavity would recognize those as the two things he always said would be useless in catching Caffrey.

"That's how we're going to catch him?"  The OPR agent looked skeptical.

"It's a good start."

Macavity blinked and grinned. "It's the best idea. He's pretty memorable after all."

"Now, if you'll excuse us, my agent and I have a thief to catch," Coricopat smiled.

Growltiger eyed him, but nodded, "Of course."  He turned and strolled away.

Macavity watched him leave. "Well, he's charming."

"A complete joy," Coricopat muttered, scowling.  "I need you to keep an eye on him and his goons for me."

"Can I do that?"

"Consider this your authorization to do so.  Something isn't right about any of this."

Macavity nodded. "Something not right indeed. Try to keep yourself out of trouble."

"I'll try."  He slipped out avoiding the OPR agents and doing his best to appear occupied with other things if any of them saw him.

o.o.o

Coricopat approached the jewelry store, checking his watch and glancing around for anyone matching Mistoffelees' description remotely.  They'd agreed that morning to meet at the boutique.  He finally spotted the smaller man and made his way over, "Nice disguise..."

Mistoffelees looked at him over the top of the newspaper that featured his mug shot. "Road blocks and wanted posters? Really?"

The agent grinned, "If OPR wants to bang their head against a brick wall who am I to tell them no?"

Mistoffelees rolled his eyes and scowled at the picture. "I always hated this shot and now it's everywhere."

"It's not bad for a mugshot," Coricopat replied.

Mistoffelees looked at it again. "No. But it's still awful."

"Well, we're not here to discuss how photogenic you can be,” Coricopat said, clearing his throat.

"Yeah, but how am I supposed to just walk in there?" Mistoffelees asked, folding the front page again.

"I'm going to tell them you're in my custody and that you're going to show me how you got into the vault," he rolled a shoulder in a half-shrug.

Mistoffelees blinked and laughed. "Stealthy. Coricopat, I'm starting to like you again."

"Then we're hanging out too much," Coricopat answered with a faint smile before stepping into the boutique with Mistoffelees. Mistoffelees' expression changed, fingering the ring in his pocket before following.

They gained access to the vault with little difficulty and Coricopat looked around, frowning, "Alright, so we assumed the thief went through the blind spots of the cameras.  But forensics says the alarm wasn't tampered with."

"But that's not possible," Mistoffelees said, turning around in the space. "Unless he never left the vault."

Coricopat nodded, glancing up and pointing, "That wasn't flickering on the security tape."

"No, it wasn't," Mistoffelees said, pulling the lighting panel off and frowning at the light. "Hm. Well, it could have been a misdirect. Try the other panel."

Coricopat moved over and pried it back revealing a poorly bricked wall behind it, "Aha, here we go, there's something."

"You mean a secret passageway? Yeah, how'd the FBI miss that?" Mistoffelees asked, craning his neck to consider it.

"We didn't. Growltiger had OPR take over the investigation."  He pushed at the wall, finally getting some of the bricks to come loose and fall into what looked to be a tunnel on the other side, "Well, what do you know."

"I love New York," Mistoffelees said. "So many buildings built during prohibition..."

"Exactly."  The agent slipped into the tunnel, "Let's see where this takes us then."

Mistoffelees laughed. "I really love this city." He paused as they pushed up onto a side walk. "Well look at this."

Coricopat grinned, "Perfect.  I'll call in a team and we'll start canvassing for witnesses."

"We may not have to," Mistoffelees said, looking up and pointing to a camera.

"And who says Big Brother's a bad thing?"  He opened his phone, calling Macavity.

"Here," Macavity said. "What's up?"

"I'm going to need you to pull up a video off a surveillance camera for me.  We found the way the thief got into the vault."

"Great. Tell me the camera and I'll get on it," Macavity said, grin almost audible in his voice.

Coricopat looked around for a cross street, and rattled off the exact location of the camera, "Send it to my computer, I'll deal with it at my apartment."

"Excellent," Macavity said. "I'll text you when it's patched in."

"Perfect."  He hung up, glancing at Mistoffelees, "Shall we head back then?"

“To... your's?" Mistoffelees asked, sounding wary.

"Do you have another suggestion?" Coricopat asked, looking at the other with an arched brow.

"No," Mistoffelees said, turning to walk down the street.

Coricopat drew a deep breath and hurried to catch up with him, "Alright, what did I do?"

"Do?" Mistoffelees asked, tilting his head back slightly.

"You were on edge all morning and I'd frankly like to know why," the agent responded.

"And frankly it's actually not your business," Mistoffelees replied. "But at the very least, being under suspicion from the FBI with the threat of going back to prison isn't enough to put me on edge? OPR is screwing us both and you're asking me why?"

"I'm asking why your reactions changed from last night to this morning," Coricopat replied testily.

"Maybe I just realized what was going on," Mistoffelees muttered.

The taller man didn't look like he believed that at all, but he let it slide, he'd press later if this continued, "Well, let's go prove their suspicions wrong then."

"Alright," Mistoffelees said, shoving his hands in his pockets as they walked. They reached Coricopat's apartment, on alert for any of the OPR agents, but it appeared they'd been thoroughly diverted.

Making coffee as soon as they entered, in short order Mistoffelees curled up on Coricopat's couch, his knees up against his chest. Coricopat finally got the text from Macavity, saying that the footage had been transferred.  He fetched his laptop and set it up on the coffee table, opening the file and setting it to play, fast forwarding through most of it to nearer the time stamp they needed.

"There he goes," Mistoffelees said, pointing. "Now we just have to wait for him to double back, and hope to god he turns around."

The suspect emerged again and Coricopat slowed the recording, watching for any point at which the person turned around.  He paused the footage after a moment, when the man turned to look at a woman who walked past him, "We got him.  That's Tulane."

"Is it really that easy?" Mistoffelees asked.

“He's on film.  Coming out of the tunnel that leads right into the vault at exactly the time of the robbery.  I don't know how we could have him any more securely."

"Going to go arrest him then?" Mistoffelees asked, glancing over.

Coricopat nodded once, rising, "I am."

"Can I go home yet?" Mistoffelees asked. "Or should you actually arrest him first?"

Coricopat checked his watch, "Go pick up your cat.  I should have him by then."

"Call me when you're done," Mistoffelees said, standing.

"Of course."  Coricopat headed for the door, waiting for Mistoffelees on the landing outside.

The smaller man paused. "Yeah?"

"Just making sure you were out before I locked up.  I'll call you, shouldn't be more than an hour."

"See you then," Mistoffelees said, tipping the brim of his hat to him and stepping into the drizzle. Coricopat locked up his apartment and left, heading to Tulane's to haul him in.


	17. But the World's Such a Big Place

Coricopat leaned against the table in the conference room, looking at Tulane, "How did you know which vault the diamond would be in?  Silence won't help you.  But maybe I can.  Tell me everything, and I can talk to the prosecutor about immunity."

The thief eyed him, "Why would you give me immunity?"

That earned a derisive snort, "Well, believe it or not, I don't think you're the brains behind this operation."

"Playing on my vanity?  Please, you have some video that proves nothing."

"Well, it places you there, but you're right.  See, on the other hand the search warrant I managed to get helped us find this pretty trinket in a town house of one of your girls."  He set the stolen necklace down on the table, "I'd say that proves something, wouldn't you?"

"Well, if you're asking for my expertise, I can tell you that a crime like this often has a benefactor.  The entire operation from delivery route to exit strategy is handed to someone," Tulane answered coolly.

Agent Zimmerman rolled his eyes, "Tell me something I don't know."

"Men with privileged information often hire people with certain skills to do what they can’t.  Of course, all of this is just hypothetical."

"This conversation is not hypothetical," came the sharp reply.  "Immunity for a name."

Tulane glanced up as Growltiger walked past, "Oh, is he the prosecutor?"

"Immunity for a name," Coricopat repeated.

"I would if I could.  The more I learn, the more I think this whole case is a setup."  He glanced at the OPR agent through the glass.

Coricopat followed his gaze, frowning, "Seems to be a lot of that going around."

w-w-w

An hour later, Mistoffelees was watching in some horror as Macavity poured champagne into a paper cup. "Look, I'm glad you're happy that I got cleared but that is just wrong."

Coricopat entered the conference room, his eyes widening, "Macavity Hollister, what are you doing?  Is that champagne in paper?"

"Drink and be happy," Macavity said, handing him a cup as well. "So both of you shut up."

The lead agent took the cup, eyeing it warily, "You brought champagne.  I understand celebrating, but we usually don't use alcohol for it--not at the offices anyhow."

"OPR is gone, celebrate," Macavity said. "We caught someone and our boy is cleared and the bastards are gone!"

Mistoffelees sputtered. "Our boy?"

Coricopat hid a smile in his cup, "Apparently Macavity has adopted you into the unit.  But here's to all of that."

"Well I won't say no to alcohol on the job," Mistoffelees said with a shrug.

One of the secretaries poked her head in the door, "Sir, there's a call for Mr. Caffrey on line 3."

"A call?" Mistoffelees asked, frowning. "Alright," he said, glancing at Coricopat. "Can I use your phone?"

The agent nodded, "Go ahead."

Mistoffelees slid into his office, picking up the phone. "Hey."

“Misto, it's me," Pounce’s voice come over the line, sounding far away through the phone.

"Pounce," Mistoffelees said, bracing himself on the desk. "What’re—”

"Misto, I don't have long.  He's close.  To you, to me, to everything."

"I, I know," Mistoffelees said, glancing through the glass at Coricopat. "He's in the FBI."

"Misto, please, just give him what he wants."

" _What_ does he want?" Mistoffelees asked, nearly hitting the desk.

"I...I have to go."

"No, Pounce, don't you dare--just tell me!" Mistoffelees wanted to pick up the cup on the desk and smash it against the wall or start screaming loudly enough to bring the entire unit in to see what was wrong.

"I _can't_."

"Pounce, please," he said, desperation leaking into his voice.

"Misto, I have to go.  If he finds out I've been calling you..."

"Come on, Pounce, please just trust me," Mistoffelees tried to keep his voice level, thinking again about smashing the cup.

"He's too close.  You can't trust anyone, Misto.  Not at all."

"You have to trust _me_ ," Mistoffelees protested.

"It's..."  There was a sound in the background, "I have to go.  Stay safe."

"Pounce!" He was greeted with a dial tone. Mistoffelees slammed the phone down, sinking into Coricopat's chair.

Coricopat tapped o the open door to his office, "Mistoffelees?"

"Sorry," Mistoffelees said, rising in one long graceful motion, mask instantly sliding into place as he moved. He looked for all the world like nothing was wrong or had ever been wrong in his life. "I'll get out of your office now."

"Don't worry about it.  Is everything alright?"

"Fine, as fine as ever,” he said breezily, though the modification was a slip.

He frowned, "Which is why you looked about ready to break my phone?"

"Yeah?" Mistoffelees said, glancing up. "Sorry, just some troubles. It's nothing."

"...Alright."  Coricopat frowned, "Do you want a ride home?"

"Please," he said after a moment. "If it wouldn't be too much trouble."

"No trouble at all.  Come on, I'll take you there now."

"Thanks," he said, using the brim of his hat to shade his eyes. Coricopat considered him for a long moment before picking up his coat and keys and heading for the door.

w-w-w

Mistoffelees considered the chessboard, turning Coricopat's ring in his fingers. Since he'd taken it from Coriocopat's room, he'd taken to keeping it with him at all times. Turning it again he considered where Coricopat's name was engraved on the band.

Jerrie rested his chin in his hand, his gaze moving from the board to the ring, "If only there were some way to compare this to your life..."

"Please refrain," Mistoffelees sighed.

His friend picked up a pawn, moving it and turning his attention back to Mistoffelees, "There’s no doubt it's him, huh?"

"I really wish I could find something," Mistoffelees said. "But it looks like."

"I hate to say this, Misto, but everyone's got a price.  He's been in the perfect position to control everything, and he's smart."

"But there's no way he could have done it," Mistoffelees protested, dropping the ring on the board and glaring at it.

"If you're so sure, prove it."  Jerrie shook his head, "What more evidence do you want, Misto?"

"Him and Pounce in the same goddamn room," Mistoffelees said, standing. "Who knows. The ring might not be unique."

"Well, then find out if it is," the red head sighed.  "But, how are you going to do that?  Ask him? I can see that going well, 'hey remember the time you harbored me as a fugitive? Yeah I went through your stuff in case you're the guy who was holding my lover hostage, oh and by the way I found the ring.  Do other people have one?'"

Mistoffelees gaped at him, tapping a pen against his leg as he paced. "Fuck. Alright. No."

"Look, you have to work with him either way.  I just think at this point you've got to figure he did it.  Guilty til proven innocent."

“Usually it's the other way around," Mistoffelees muttered, still tapping the pen and pacing.

"Usually it's them doing the proving.  Besides, isn't like they've given you slack in that department either," Jerrie pointed out.

Mistoffelees scowled. "I don't have to be them."

"So what?  You're going to ignore the only piece of evidence you have in favor of taking it on a feeling that he's innocent?"

"I don't know yet," Mistoffelees said. "I need to figure it out."

Jerrie sighed, "Alright.  Good luck with that...."

"Did you find anything?" Mistoffelees asked, looking over.

"You mean anything more?  No.  Growltiger's got some hotel room set up, but it's not much, and he's had it since shortly before the jewelry heist."

"I meant, did you dig anything up on Coricopat?" Mistoffelees asked, really not wanting to hear the answer.

"Nothing I didn't already know.  Except that he was training to be an accountant before he ended up working for the feds.  He doesn't have much in the way of skeletons and keeps his record nice and clean."

Mistoffelees swore again, dropping the pen on the table and picking the ring back up.

"What now?" Jerrie asked, tilting his head back to watch his friend.

"Now," he said, pausing as his phone rang. "I go to work."

Jerrie sighed, looking at the phone, "Good luck with that."

"Thanks," Mistoffelees said, reading the text and slipping the phone and ring back into his pocket.

"You sure you should be carrying that thing around with you at work?"

Mistoffelees rolled his shoulder and shut the door behind him with more force then he'd intended. Jerrie sighed and looked at Oscar, "Okay, yeah I've been overstepping all day.  What does he expect me to say?" Oscar considered him and went back to washing his paw.

 

w-w-w

Coricopat and another agent were leaning against the counter by the coffee pot, watching as Mistoffelees stepped off of the elevator, "So you trust him?"

Coricopat sighed, he'd been around this track already, "He's the guy you want for this."

"You didn't answer my question."

"Morning," Mistoffelees said, charming smile in force as he approached. "What's our business today?"

"Morning," Coricopat returned.  "Agent Landry, meet Mistoffelees Caffrey."

Landry held out a hand, "Con man turned FBI consultant."

Mistoffelees barely batted an eye. "I see my reputation once again precedes me."

"Well you're hard to miss,” the new agent replied.

Coricopat cut in before anything more could be said, "Agent Landry's here from the Dallas field office.  He's following a boiler room case."

Landry frowned at that, "Actually, I'm still catching Zimmerman up on the details.  Nice to meet you, Caffrey."

"Lovely to meet you too," he said, shaking the man's hand quickly and moving away.

"You really think Caffrey's the right man for this job?"  Landry sounded skeptical.

"Completely,” Coricopat replied without taking the time to think about it.

"He's a criminal."

Coricopat shook his head, "Fight fire with fire.  So are the guys in the boiler room. If you need somebody who can sweet talk their way into a high pressure sales environment, he's your guy."

Moments later Mistoffelees was sitting in the conference room. "So what's this deal?" he asked, glancing around the table full of agents.

"This is a boiler room scam." Coricopat explained, "We've got an office full of junior Gordon Gekkos selling bad stock.  It's a classic pump and dump.  Guy in charge buys half a million shares of dollar stocks, gets his boys to inflate the price by selling it over the phone, then dumps his stock when it peaks, leaving our buyers holding worthless shares."

Landry nodded gesturing with his pen, "People are losing their homes over this.  Guy last month got taken for fifty thousand dollars.  He's got three kids and no roof to put over their heads now."

"The average victim of this scam loses nearly thirty grand.  So we need to shut this room down," Zimmerman finished.

“The room's mobile then?" Mistoffelees asked.

Nodding again, Landry looked at him, "Yeah, they've run this scam four times now.  Every time they dump the stock, they pick up, move to another location."

"Who's in charge?" Mistoffelees asked, expression impressed.

"That's what we're trying to find out."

"Landry's got somebody on the inside, a female informant," Coricopat explained.

"A female?" Mistoffelees asked. "This is a boy's club operation. How'd she work her way inside?"

 "That’s the issue.  She hasn't," Landry sighed.

The lead white collar agent nodded, "That's why we're sending in someone who can.  Someone who can hustle with the best of them."

Mistoffelees paused as the entire table looked at him. "I suppose we won't be drawing straws for that honor then?" he asked, arching his brow as everyone just watched him.

Coricopat shook his head, "No.  I'll be filling you in in my office once we're done here."

"Great," Mistoffelees murmured.

They finished up the general briefing in short order, Coricopat heading back to his office with Mistoffelees, "Have a seat."

"So, what am I going to be doing this week?" Mistoffelees asked, giving him a perfect grin.

Looking him over for a moment, the agent finally spoke, "You're going to start by interviewing with a guy named Brad."

"Of course his name is Brad," Mistoffelees rolled his eyes. "And you think I can keep up with these guys? I'm almost flattered."

"You could sell light switches to the Amish," the other answered dryly as he handed over a file.  "Madison Cookler, she's our girl inside.  She won't know who you are."

Mistoffelees' eyebrows shot up at the picture. "Okay. I can work with that. What's her role in all of this?"

"The guys transfer the calls, after they make a sale, to her.  She takes down all the buyers’ information.  But thanks to her, we know exactly what kind of stocks these guys are looking to hock.  We went fishing with several of our own front companies.  They took the bait on that one.  Rhymer Pharmaceutical."

"So you've got a tap on every phone in the place? That's impressive."

“Yeah, we're recording every call.  The sales are real, and we just want to know who's behind it all."

Mistoffelees nodded. "Always good to know the man behind the curtain," he said, hand going to the ring in his pocket, turning it over.

Coricopat arched an eyebrow at that, "Indeed.  Well, anyhow," he held out a simple pen to the other, "For you."

"Aw, I didn't get you anything," Mistoffelees said, accepting it. "So what does it do?"

The agent smiled slightly, handing it back, "We call it an eagle.  Recorder, transmitter, GPS.  Keep it on you at all times."

"Okay, that's cool," Mistoffelees said, turning it over again as if trying to figure out how it worked just by looking at it.

"We’re going to have to cut your anklet for this one too."

"Well, that's even cooler," Mistoffelees said, eyes widening despite himself.

"Mostly.  If this thing works, we'll have proved to at least one other department that what we're doing is a good idea, and since OPR was breathing down our necks about you recently, we're on thin ice.  We solve this and we do it fast.  If we manage that, we kill two birds with one stone," Coricopat responded.

"You need to prove them wrong about me?" Mistoffelees said, arching a brow.

"Don't we always?"  Coricopat asked, considering the other.  "I hate to say that, but as much as I keep saying that your probation's solid, something else keeps showing up from higher up to put lie to that."

"Higher ups don't like me much, huh?" Mistoffelees said.

"Wish I could say otherwise, but no.  Apparently not."

Mistoffelees nodded. "Well, it could be worse," he said, rising. "I'll go test out the new toy then shall I?"

Coricopat nodded slightly, "Go ahead, we'll talk more later."

"I'm sure we will," Mistoffelees muttered, putting the pen in his pocket and slipping out.

w-w-w

Mistoffelees strolled into the boiler room, which was an empty floor at a skyscraper. Only several rows of computers was set up, headsets on everyone's head and a white board to one side. Hands in his pockets, he glanced around, listening in on a few calls.

One of the men moved over to a blond girl off to one side, "Give me some good news."

She looked up, "Two closes, thirty-two hundred shares."

The guy grinned, "Yes!  That is what I like to hear."  He made his way to Mistoffelees' side, "You must be Nick...um...Holden?"

Mistoffelees grinned. "Brad, right?"

"Guilty," came the response.  "So, U5 says you were terminated from Neiman Brothers."

"Well, the market crashed," Mistoffelees said, rolling a shoulder. "I just wasn't feeling the love."

"And you couldn't find a job working anywhere else?"

"None that were interesting," Mistoffelees said, grinning. "I want to make some real cash."

Brad considered that and then nodded, "Listen, our turnover rate is huge.  High volume, high money.  You make sales, you get paid.  You know what, don't waste time taking down client information, just transfer it over to the girls over there.  They mop up.  It's woman's work anyway, right?"

Mistoffelees blinked. "Right, of course. Let's do this then."

"Slow down, I haven't hired you yet."  He motioned to the guy at the nearest phone, "You, take a break.  Take his place and we'll start your interview."

Brows going up again, Mistoffelees nodded. "So, want to give me some numbers?"

Brad pulled up a list, "Take your pick."

"This two one six area code feels lucky," Mistoffelees remarked, hoping the FBI van would pick it up. Not that he didn’t believe he could scam anyone who’d woken up that morning, but he’d prefer the interview at least to go as it was supposed to.

Brad smirked, "Come on, Newbie.  Mr. Charles Fairweather is waiting on the deal of a lifetime."

"What am I selling today?" Mistoffelees glanced at him.

"The dream.  Today, that is Rhymer Pharmaceutical."

"Rhymer Pharmaceutical it is," Mistoffelees agreed. "Hello, Mr. Fairweather?"

Coricopat's voice came on the line, "This is he.  Who is this?"

"My name is Nick Holden and I would like to be your broker."

"I've already got a broker,” Coricopat, standing in for Mr. Fairweather protested and Mistoffelees barely managed not to laugh at the charade. Because of course Coricopat would make him work for it to better show off what skills he had.

"Not like me. He bring any money in last year?"

"No one made money last year."

"That's not true. If you'd been with me you would have netted three percent, and that's after the crash."

That garnered a derisive snort, "I don't believe you."

"Please," Mistoffelees drawled. "Trust me. You have an e-mail? I can send you my earnings report right now. Biotech and alcohol were way up."

"How did you get this number?"  Coricopat demanded.

"Your old broker wasn't smart enough to keep you to yourself. What do you do for a living, Charlie?"

"I'm a history teacher, but I’m not interest-"

"The only history that's worth a damn is the history we make today. Do you know who said that?" Mistoffelees asked, used to quoting wars with Jerrie.

"I do believe Henry Ford said that," the man on the other end of the phone replied, his tone shifting just enough to indicate a bit of a smile from him.

"Then are you going to make history today or not?"

"What sort of history-making breakthrough are you talking about here?"

"Ever hear of Rhymer Pharmaceutical?"

"No," Coricopat said but managed to sound intrigued and Mistoffelees bit the inside of his lip not to laugh again.

"Of course you haven't, because your job is to teach, and my job is to know about companies like Rhymer before everyone else.  You know when you don't buy a stock?  When your cab driver tells you about it.  Now if you'd known about IBM before the invention of the microchip, would you have bought in?" Mistoffelees asked, grinning at he talked and playing with the pen he'd found on the desk.

"Who wouldn't have?" came the reply.

"Well, Rhymer is poised for a breakout on the same scale.  Monday, the FDA will approve them to begin trials on a quantum-confined nano technology that has the potential to transform cancer medicines.  And I get you in on the ground floor."

Coricopat's voice was suspicious, "That sounds like insider trading."

"No, not at all. Please. Some credit, please. Look. I pour over a thousand pages of scientific BS so I can make you rich at three bucks a share.  Let's start small, okay?  A thousand shares.  I double that for you next week and then we get serious."

"Well...I don't know...I'd have to ask my wife."

Mistoffelees eyebrows went up at Brad's snort. "Mr. Fairweather," Mistoffelees said slowly. "If you invest with me the only question you'll be asking your wife is what kind of hardwood floors does she want in her new house."

"Oh...I don't know..."

Mistoffelees rolled his eyes again. "Life comes down to your choices. Which ones do you want to make today?"

There was a long pause on the other end before the answer came through, "I'm in.  But let's make it five thousand shares."

"Thank you," Mistoffelees said with a smirk. "I'll transfer you over to one of our girls and she'll take down your information."

The call was transferred with a clipped motion from Mistoffelees and he leaned back, spreading his arms as Brad stood to one side, looking impressed. "So, how'd the interview go?"

Brad offered him a wide grin, "Yes!"

Mistoffelees grinned. "Yeah?"

"Yes.  Keep that station.  He can find a new one."

Mistoffelees laughed, picking the head set back up. "Hey, that works for me." Brad clapped him on the shoulder and moved over to deal with his other sellers.

By the end of the day, Mistoffelees as Nick had the most sales on the board, and several other men in the place were eying him sideways. Brad made his way over, still grinning ear-to-ear, "Come on, Crazy Eight, let's go."

"Crazy eight?" Mistoffelees asked, glancing back at him from where he was still sitting.

"No?"  Brad shrugged, "You land close to eight whales in one day, you can buy your own nickname."  He turned, calling out, "Time to hit the bars!"

Everyone else cheered, the men heading for the door quickly and Mistoffelees just arching a brow, staring to follow. "We're not going with them," Brad spoke to him under his breath.

"Why not?" Mistoffelees asked, looking at him as everyone filed toward the elevator.

"He wants to meet you," Brad said, tone more serious than he had all day.

"Who does?" Mistoffelees asked, fiddling with his pen and making sure it was working.

"The man behind the curtain."

Mistoffelees grinned. "Well, in that case, who am I to say no?"

w-w-w

Brad and Mistoffelees entered a large high scale bar, Brad leading the way up to the right floor and indicating two men at the end of the hall.  The two were in a muted discussion that couldn't quite be heard from where Brad had stopped them.

“That's him?" Mistoffelees asked, considering them.

"That’s Avery.  Guy on the left.  He's the youngest guy to have  a seat on the New York stock exchange.  He's the man with the plan.  He's the one who finds the stocks, fronts the cash, and we're the ones who do the legwork."

"Who's he talking to?" Mistoffelees asked, admiring the place around them.

"His business partner."

"That partner looks pretty upset," Mistoffelees murmured.

"Usually they work together, but our room's all Avery which is why they're not simpatico right now."  Brad glanced at him, "Keep that to yourself though."

"Of course," Mistoffelees replied. "I know when to keep my mouth shut."

As his partner stormed out, Avery rose and made his way over, weaving past several attractive girls with trays. "You must be my new rain maker."

"Yeah. See you're having problems with your associate though," Mistoffelees said, hands sliding toward his pockets but not in deep enough to hamper his movements and tilting back on the heels of his shoes.

Brad gaped at him, "Bro."

Mistoffelees rolled a shoulder. "I don't want to get pinched because you're having domestic troubles."

Avery considered him. "You've got balls. I like that. What my business partners and I discuss though is none of your concern. You should go relax, have fun," he said, patting Mistoffelees' shoulder and gesturing to the bar and other patrons.

Taking Mistoffelees by the arm, Brad started for the bar, "Dude, not cool."

Mistoffelees rolled his shoulder again and grinned. "Better to be remembered then not."

"Be remembered for the right reasons, Nick.  That's all I'm saying."

Laughing, Mistoffelees took a drink. "Who says I'm not going to be?"

Brad laughed, "Guess that's true.  Considering how you did today, you probably will be."

Just grinning again, Mistoffelees turned his attention to the drink, eyes scanning the bar.

w-w-w

Several hours later Mistoffelees dialed Coricopat's number, leaning against the side of a building for support. The agent answered on the second ring, "Zimmerman.  A little early for you to call it a night isn't it?"

"Oh god, no, no it's not," Mistoffelees said. "I forgot what a lightweight I am for anything not wine. Look, I meet the guy running this thing. Avery Phillips."

"You did?  Well, then we'd better see about getting moving on this.  Where are you at?"  He could be heard moving around, gathering things like his coat and keys.

"Um, I'm actually pretty close to your flat," Mistoffelees said. "And I have lots of stuff recorded."

"Do you need me to come pick you up, or can you make it to my apartment?"

"I can make it back," Mistoffelees said, looking around. "I'm not _that_ tipsy. Just, uh, a little unsteady."

"Alright, then.  Door'll be open for you."

"Great," Mistoffelees said and snapped the phone shut, leaning his head against the wall for a long moment, trying to figure out if he actually could stand to be back at Coricopat's apartment.

Shaking his head, he pushed himself off, arriving there a few minutes later.

Coricopat glanced up at the sound of someone outside his door.  He moved over and answered it before Mistoffelees could reach it, "So nothing stronger than wine, hm?"

"Whoever invented whiskey needs to be shot," he replied, completely serious. "Your recording," he said, holding the pen out.

Taking the pen, the agent stepped aside, "Can I get you anything?"

"A new head come morning," Mistoffelees muttered.

"Sorry, don't have any of those to spare," he smiled faintly.  "You going to make it home alright?"

"Thinking a cab would be the best plan," Mistoffelees said after a pause.

Coricopat motioned to where the phone was, "Feel free to call one."

Mistoffelees used his cell phone instead, glancing at Coricopat from time to time.

The agent settled on the couch, playing the recording and taking notes, though his gaze rose after a moment, "Is something wrong?"

"Like what?" Mistoffelees asked.

"I'm not entirely sure.  It's been a long day and I may be imagining things," he answered, though he knew he hadn't been imagining how tense the other had been around him since the OPR "visit".

"Maybe," Mistoffelees said, looking out the window.

Coricopat considered him for another long minute, "You look like you could use a week off."

"Would you give me a week off?" Mistoffelees huffed, glancing over.

"I could talk to Vlask about it."

"Wait, seriously?" Mistoffelees frowned at him.

"Yes, seriously.  I've got vacation time of my own they're about ready to force me to take and you really think I trust anyone else to deal with you?"

"Right," Mistoffelees said, something going hollow in his voice. "Would you go anywhere?"

Coricopat shook his head, "Are you kidding?  Where would I even begin to think of going?  There's plenty to do, or not do, in New York."

"But the world's such a big place," Mistoffelees said, gesturing to the window. "I mean, god knows there's nowhere else I'd rather be then here, but to get away, to Italy or Paris or Petersburg..."

"Petersburg?  Really?" Coricopat asked, sounding surprised.

"Why not? Russia's beautiful," Mistoffelees said.

"I suppose so, just not what I expected in that list I suppose."

"What did you expect then?" Mistoffelees asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I don't know.  Paris, Italy, Vienna, maybe Munich.  Though I suppose I can see draws in Petersburg for you as well."

Mistoffelees snorted and shook his head. "You forgot Berlin."

"Of course...How could I forget Berlin?" Coricopat asked, sounding almost fond and it made Mistoffelees want to scream.

"It's shameful, that's what it is," Mistoffelees shook his head and paused. "Seriously? You wouldn't go anywhere?"

"I might, but what's the point of traveling if you do it alone?"

Mistoffelees blinked once and looked away. "I think the cab's here."

Coricopat sighed, "Certainly sounds like it.  I'll see you tomorrow."

Mistoffelees paused at the door. "If you had someone... where would you go? Seriously?"

"Germany.  My family's from there, and I've always wanted to travel there.  Perhaps down to Spain and Portugal," he answered after a moment.

"You'd like Portugal," Mistoffelees murmured, shaking his head slightly. "See you tomorrow."

"Good night," the taller man replied softly, brushing aside the thought of enjoying Portugal with the other.

w-w-w

The next morning, Mistoffelees entered the conference room, still rubbing at his temple despite the aspirin he'd already taken. "Find anything?"

Coricopat glanced up, but didn’t comment on the other's probable hangover, "Maybe.  Avery's credible enough on paper.  He runs a separate, legit brokerage with Daniel Reed."  He slid a photo over, "This is Reed."

"Oh look, that was the partner he was arguing with. Apparently Reed is not in on the boiler room scam."

Macavity strolled in with two cups of coffee, placing his second in front of Coricopat and ignoring the plaintive look Mistoffelees was giving him.

Sliding his coffee cup over to Mistoffelees, the lead agent nodded, "Sounds about right.  I checked with FINRA, their business is profitable, but something tells me that Avery’s trying to push out Reed.  They've run the boiler room scam together on the side in the past, maybe for some startup capital.  But according to your new buddy Brad, this current shop is all Avery.  He's planning something on his own."

"Partners that don't trust each other, how novel," Mistoffelees muttered even as he accepted the coffee. "Okay, so if I'm Reed, you're Avery. You're trying to screw me. Why?"

Coricopat looked at him with an arched brow before shrugging, "Money."

"Seriously?" Mistoffelees replied, arching a brow as Macavity started going through the file. "It's that simple?"

"Isn't it always?"

"So you just manipulate your friends and the people around you?" Mistoffelees asked, an edge entering his voice, though most people wouldn't have noticed.

Coricopat's brow arched, briefly wondering if they were still on the same track, but he answered as Avery not as himself, "Yes.  All to get rid of you."

Mistoffelees made a tiny sound in the back of his throat. "And I would never see it coming."

"And Reed won't either.  Theoretically," the lead agent responded.

"So how do we connect Avery with this room?" Macavity asked as Bomba entered with several new files to add to the pile of evidence. Mistoffelees’ attention snapped over to him from where he’d been considering Coricopat so intently.

"Well, we obviously can’t request the books," Coricopat answered, taking the top file that Bomba had brought in.  "We do that, it tips our hands and they close shop.  We need another way in."

Bomba considered. "We already set up a company they're exploiting. Why not set up a CEO to exploit them?"

Her boss turned his attention to her, "How do you mean?"

"Well, let's say that the owner of Rhymer Pharmaceutical is onto the scam.  So he walks into Avery's office with a proposal: earning reports and a share of the profits in exchange for silence."

Coricopat nodded, "Not bad.  We create the right back story, give the CEO a working history.  It'd fly.  Who do we send?"

Macavity opened his mouth but Mistoffelees beat him there. "What about you?"

That earned a blink from the brunet, "Me?  Any particular reason?"

"Well, you look like a guy people could trust, but you also look like you can be bought for the right price," Mistoffelees shrugged.

Coricopat froze at that, staring at him before turning to Macavity and Bombalurina, "Would you excuse us for a minute?" The two agents looked at each other and retreated, Macavity swiping his coffee to take with him.

Coricopat turned in his chair to fully face Mistoffelees, "Do we have a problem?"

Mistoffelees glanced around the room before centering back on him. "What would we possibly have as a problem?"

"I'm not entirely sure, but what the hell was that?"

"What the hell was what?" Mistoffelees asked and winced when his own voice reached a higher pitch then he was comfortable with.

"You've been sniping at me since the OPR incident and I am well and truly sick of it.  Whatever your problem is, get it out in the open, because I'd sure as hell hope it's not going to be something that continues."  It was a conscious force of will that kept him from getting out of his seat and using his height advantage against the other man.

Mistoffelees kept his expression clear, only blinking once. "I'll see what I can do about that," he replied, sarcasm still evident in his voice.

"You're not going to let me in on this, are you?"

"What is there to let you in on?" Mistoffelees asked, eyes widening slightly in a somewhat obviously fake attempt to look innocent.

Coricopat looked him over, jaw tensing, "Nothing apparently."  He rose, "If you'll excuse me I have an alias to locate and a history to build." Mistoffelees waved him off, a cold smile on his face.

w-w-w

Shortly thereafter found Mistoffelees making another sale on the phone, glancing up at Brad approached. Brad leaned over as Mistoffelees got set to transfer the call, "Nice job.  Just don't transfer the call to Madison."

"Why not?" Mistoffelees asked, glancing over at where the women were.

"Just do as you're told."

"What, am I just an intern or something?" Mistoffelees asked, frowning.

"Look.  I've got no idea what's going on, alright?  Avery says freeze her out, that's what we do.  Just go to Linda for now."

"Alright," Mistoffelees said with a shrug, face neutral as he tried to figure out how to tell that to Coricopat as soon as possible.

Brad started to walk away, but paused and turned back, "Oh, by the way.  Avery's having a party at his place on Saturday.  Clear your calendar."

“I'll be sure to. Talk to you later, dude."

Brad gave him a two fingered salute and went to check on some of the other guys. Mistoffelees scowled, tapping a pen against the side of the table, wondering how they'd figured out the inside woman.

w-w-w

Coricopat entered the brokerage firm, giving his alias and in short order finding himself in a conference room with Avery Phillips.  It was beginning to feel progressively more like this case was a shade too easy.

"Mr. Edison," Avery greeted. "Glad to meet you."

Coricopat smiled mirthlessly as he shook the other man's hand, "No you're not."

"Direct," Avery said, eyebrow shooting up. "I like that."

"Then let me be more direct.  I know what you're doing to my company.  Rhymer Pharmaceutical isn't worth all that attention.  Tell me why a guy like you is buying all those shares," Coricopat frowned at the other man.

"I'm sorry, do you have any proof I've ever bought any shares?"

"We both know how these games are played.  I may not work on Wall Street, that doesn’t mean I can’t smell a shark in a suit.  You're making a move, some kind of move.  And you're setting yourself up big, that's what guys like you do."

"Why are you here, Mr. Edison?" Avery asked, leaning back and frowning.

"Bottom line?"  Coricoapt arched an eyebrow at the other man, his expression not changing beyond that.

"Always," Avery replied with a tiny smirk.

"Simply put?  I want in.  The money you stand to make from taking over my company means that you owe me board membership to your firm.  I'm not talking about controlling interest.  Just a taste of the profit."

"Or what?" Avery asked, tilting his head.

"Or I talk to the feds," came the threat, followed by one with fractionally more weight in the business world, "Or I talk to the shareholders."

"Do you know who I am?" Avery asked, taking a step forward.

"Actually, yes, I do.  And that's why I'll give you til Monday to give me your projected earnings."  He shrugged, "You know what you stand to lose.  I want to know what I stand to make."

Avery considered him for a long moment. "You know what. I'm having a get together this weekend."

"I'm not here to be your friend," came the wary reply.

Avery didn't look terribly impressed. "If we're going to be doing business off the books, we should discuss it off the books."

That garnered a shrug, "Fair enough.  What do you have in mind?"

w-w-w

Hands shoved deep in his pockets, Mistoffelees watched as several of the other boiler room boy shot clay pigeons. Avery's house was by a lake, and he'd denied the gun several times already. Brad set the gun against his shoulder and glanced at the guy firing off the pigeons, "Pull."  He followed it and fired, the pigeon shattering.

"What's going on over there?" Mistoffelees asked, glancing at where Avery appeared out of a car, followed by Coricopat.

"Avery's doing a little business," Brad replied, lowering the gun to reload it.  "Maybe you should mind your own."

"You know, you're just a little psycho," Mistoffelees said and grinned.

The other returned the grin, snapping the cartridge into place and offering the gun to Mistoffelees, "Come on, Crazy Eight, you're on deck, man."

"No, I'm cool man," Mistoffelees said, stepping back. "You've already loaded, you take the shot."

Brad shrugged turning his attention back to the range, "Pull!"

Coricopat stepped inside the house, his grey eyes sweeping around the room, it was a spacious floor plan with large windows, he didn't have to fake the impressed tone to his voice, "Nice place."

"Well, what can I say?" Avery smirked. "I'm a boy with my toys. It's all about having fun, right?"

"How old are you anyway?" Coricopat asked, looking at him sideways.

"Twenty-nine this month," he said and shrugged. "You wanna see something really cool?"

Coricopat rolled a shoulder in a half shrug, "Sure."

"Come with me," Avery said, motioning him down a hallway into his private vault.

Following him, the agent looked around appreciatively, "Comics."

"My prize possessions," Avery said, turning a circle and showing off the stored boxes, several issues framed on the wall. "I've been collecting them since I was a kid."

"You still are a kid," came the response as Coricopat leaned closer to examine one of the framed issues.

Avery snorted. "Guilty as charged. Everyone has their inspiration and Peter Pan and these are mine. You see this one?" he said and motioned toward a cover.

He turned to look at it, "It's nice."

"I could trade that for your car," Avery laughed.

That earned a low whistle.  "You like superheroes then?"

"Those that go above and beyond what the average humans can do?" Avery grinned. "Oh yeah, love them."

"Like you, minus the cape,” Coricopat said dryly.

Avery laughed. "Damn right. You'll love this.  This vault is completely tricked out.  There's a fire, the room clamps down and the air is sucked out in ten seconds."

Coricopat filed that information away, his eyebrows rising, "That's pretty cool."

"Yeah," Avery nodded. "You try to steal from me and this door shuts. You die without the air to scream."

"I'll keep that in mind and be sure not to steal from you then," came the murmured response.

Avery laughed, clapping him on the back before leading Coricopat back outside to the skeet shooting.

Brad had just finished his latest turn when they approached.  Coricopat's gaze swept over the shooters, landing on Mistoffelees for a brief moment longer.

"Mr. Edison, these are the guys. Guys, this is Mr. Edison," Avery said, motioning between the two groups. Everyone greeted Coricopat except Mistoffelees who just looked him over.

"Who's up?"  Coricopat asked, having a feeling who the only person who had yet to fire that gun was.

"Nick is," Brad answered promptly.

"I'm sure it was someone else," Mistoffelees said, waving a hand.

"He's been passing on us all day," Brad complained.

Mistoffelees shrugged. "Not really a big gun person."

Coricopat smiled thinly, holding his hand out for the gun, "That's alright.  Let the grown-ups play with the big toys then."

"I'm sorry, do I know you?" Mistoffelees asked, narrowing his eyes.

"No.  I don't think you do," he replied, not quite testily but close.

Brad's eyes widened, "Nick, back off."

Coricopat shook his head, "It's all right.  Is there a problem, _Nick_?"

"What problem could there be?" Mistoffelees asked, echoing something he'd said earlier.

"Take the shot," Avery said, narrowing his eyes at him and dropping the gun in his hand.

For a moment Mistoffelees' expression completely shut off before he raised the gun. "Pull!" he said, catching the skeet out of the air. "Pull," he said again, barely giving himself time to line up the next shot, making it again.

Brad whistled at that and Coricopat blinked, turning his gaze on Mistoffelees, eyebrows raised. "Doesn't mean I can't use them," Mistoffelees muttered, dropping the gun back in Brad's hands and taking a full step away from it.

"Damn," Avery said, shaking his head. "That was crazy!"

Another car pulled up to the house and Madison was pulled out of the back and hurried into the house.  Coricopat's gaze darted in that direction and he glanced back at Mistoffelees briefly before turning his attention to Avery.

"Why don't you boys keep the party going?" Avery offered. "Grab a drink, shoot some more. We've got some business to take care of."

"Hey, dude, why is Madison here?" Mistoffelees asked as Avery strolled across the lawn.

"Just shoot some birds man," Brad advised.

As most of the other boys moved off, Mistoffelees leaned toward Coricopat. "They know she's the mole."

"Damn it." He muttered, "This is going to go really bad really fast.  Back my play."

"What?" Mistoffelees' eyes snapped toward him. "No."

The agent's eyes narrowed, "What the hell is wrong with you?"

Mistoffelees eyes flared. "You expect me to trust you? I showed you the picture. When were you going to mention the fact _you have the ring_?"

"Have the..."  Coricopat blinked, "Okay, first, how do you know that, and second, it's a ten year ring, lots of us have those.  This is not the time to discuss this.  Back my play!"

"You've been lying to me for months, and I found it when I was sleeping your bedroom," Mistoffelees hissed. "How am I supposed to back your play?"

"I haven't.  Now go with this."  He turned before Avery could fully reach the house, calling out, "Hey, Avery!"  He took two steps away from Mistoffelees, knowing better than to continue within the other's reach, "This guy's been playing you.  You've got yourself a spy!"

" _What_?" Mistoffelees yelped, eyes widening and taking a step forward. "You son of a bitch, now you're selling me out?"

"I'm asking you to trust me," Coricopat murmured, his gaze never leaving Avery as the broker turned, "I knew I recognized this son of a bitch."

"What do you  mean?" Avery asked, striding back over.

"Oh I'm the son of the bitch here," Mistoffelees muttered.

"Search him.  Check everything, check his pockets,” Coricopat said and Mistoffelees’ murderous glare was entirely real.

Avery grabbed him, swiping through his pockets, finding the pen and pulling it out. "What's this huh?" he asked, looking it over.

Coricopat held his hand out for the pen, "That is the question, isn't it?" Avery handed it back. Coricopat fiddled with it and clicked the switch to play a piece of the recording.

"You've been lying to me for months, and I found it when I was sleeping your bedroom," the pen played back and Mistoffelees eyes boggled.

"Well, that's an awkward moment," he muttered.

Coricopat gaped at the pen for a minute before shaking his head and handing the pen back, "Well, that was useful...  Two years ago, this guy tried to extort me on insider trading.  You can't trust him."

"Oh, I'm the one you can't trust. That's a good one," Mistoffelees snarled as Avery looked between them.

"Somehow I'm thinking it was a bit more than that," Avery muttered.

"Please," Mistoffelees waved a hand off. "It never worked out, for obvious reasons."

"Starting with trust issues and ending with extortion," Coricopat replied.

“Something like that," Mistoffelees managed, a growl in his voice.

"Look, I don't care about your lover's spat. Who the hell do you work for?" Avery asked, crowding into his personal space.

"Your partner, Daniel Reed," Mistoffelees replied.

 Coricopat managed not to breathe a soft sigh as Mistoffelees chose the one answer that was probably going to get them the most information, and possibly land them in hot water the fastest.

"Reed?" Avery gaped.

"You think he doesn't know what you've been planning?" Mistoffelees scoffed. "He's been onto you for months!"

Brad took a couple of steps nearer, having left the other guys to keep up the shooting.

Avery motioned to Brad. "You take Madison home.  Put her in her car, give her a bottle of wine, tell her she's employee of the month."

"How do we keep this quiet?" Brad asked, glancing at Mistoffelees.

"We're going to put him on that trap, we're going to launch him off the front lawn," Avery replied and Mistoffelees took a step back.

Coricopat spoke up, carefully not looking at Mistoffelees, "Really?  You're going to actually play the villain in this?  You buy him.  Flip him on Reed."

Avery glanced between them, narrowing his eyes at Coricopat. "Your intentions might not be the purest here, but fine. What's Reed planning?"

Mistoffelees rolled his shoulders. "He knows you're gonna cut him out of his half. He hired me to find out how so he could cut you out first."

"How am I supposed to flip him if I can't even trust him?" Avery demanded to Coricopat, throwing a hand out toward Mistoffelees.

"Are you really that new to this?"  Coricopat responded.  "Pay him in stock.  He helps you, he gets rich.  He screws you, he gets nothing."

Avery considered and nodded. "Got cojones on this one.  I'll give you two perce-"

"Three," Mistoffelees cut in quickly.

"Alright, three," Avery agreed.

"Well, I have to be going," Coricopat spoke.  "My sister's invited me for dinner and she puts up a fuss if I miss out."

“Keep an eye on this one, would you?" Avery asked, and shoved Mistoffelees toward him. "Since you're so whipped by your sister."

"You have evidently never angered a woman," Coricopat remarked to Avery, but took Mistoffelees by the elbow.  "Come on, Nick, we'd best be going."

Mistoffelees glanced around and ended up pressing harder against Coricopat's side then he meant to. "Yeah, okay."

They reached Coricopat's car and he glanced at the other once they were inside, "Am I taking you home from here?"

"Um," was all Mistoffelees managed, hunching his shoulders and trying not to shake now he was out of everyone else's eye sight.

Coricopat got them a good mile from Avery's house before pulling over and shutting off the car.  He turned to Mistoffelees, "I'm sorry for all of that.  You did well, beyond well, and you're intact, and you're going to remain so."

Mistoffelees looked over at him. "Tell me you aren't trying to be comforting."

"Not entirely.  I was leading up to the why the hell didn't you just ask me about the ring bit," the other answered.

"I figured that's where this was going," Mistoffelees sighed.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Coricopat drew a deep breath, "I meant what I said earlier about lots of us having them.  Mac has one too.  It's a ten-year pin.  You put in ten years with the bureau and you get one, most us have them turned into rings."

"With your name engraved in them," Mistoffelees said. "Fuck."

"Yes.  With our names engraved in them.  It's," he shrugged, "it's a fraternity thing.  It's a way to say 'hey I survived this long, let's go for another ten'."

"So you probably want it back then?" Mistoffelees said, trying to brush the fact he had it off and knowing he was probably going to fail.

Coricopat blinked at him for a long moment, "You _stole_ my ring?"

"I'm sorry," Mistoffelees said faintly, dropping it on the car's dash.

The agent picked the ring up, turning it over in his hands for a moment before sliding it into his pocket, "I promise you, we'll figure out who it is.  You've got my word on that, Mistoffelees."

"He's FBI," Mistoffelees said softly. "I know that. Even before the ring. I..."

"And that's a problem, yes."  Coricopat nodded, reaching over to rest a hand on the smaller man's shoulder, "We'll find him.  We'll get this all sorted out.  I need your help getting Avery first, and then you have my word we will have a long talk about what little we might know.  Alright?"

Mistoffelees refused to actually look over. "Alright. I'll help with Avery. I mean, I'm sorta stuck there."

"I am sorry about not giving you warning back there."

"Would have helped," Mistoffelees muttered. "Though I think the winning moment was when he played back the pen."

Coricopat covered his eyes at that and shook his head, "Of all the things for that damn recorder to play."

"I just can't decide if Mac or Bomba is going to have the bigger field day," Mistoffelees said, trying to offer Coricopat the chance to laugh at the idea of them being lovers, even lovers who were possibly closer to enemies.

It garnered a faint huff of a laugh, but that was more at the horror of either of his agents actually getting a hold of that, "God, we'll never live it down."

"Especially when they tell their significant others."

"Grids we would survive."

"Probably," Mistoffelees said, looking over and hesitating a moment too long on Coricopat's face before snapping his eyes away.

Coricopat swallowed, restarting the car, "So...am I taking you back to your apartment?"

"Uh," Mistoffelees managed. "Yeah. Yeah, please."

Nodding very slightly, the agent turned the car in that direction. Coricopat pulled to a stop at the next stop sign, "I wasn't lying to him when I said I had dinner at my sister's tonight.  Would...that is...would you like to join us?"

Mistoffelees didn't quite look at him. "Doesn't she sorta hate me on sight?"

"No more than Jenny hates me.  She's wary of you, sure, but she also hasn't seen you outside of work and away from paintings," he replied, keeping his eyes on the road.

"And would you like her to?" Mistoffelees asked. "I suppose it would keep the cover..." he trailed off abruptly, realizing Jerrie would go into cardiac arrest when he explained this one to him.

Coricopat glanced at him finally, something flickering in his grey eyes at the idea of it keeping their cover, "I would like her to.  Screw cover, you deserve to be known as a human being and not for your past crimes alone."

That got Mistoffelees' attention, staring at him for a long moment. "Um... thanks."

The agent shrugged slightly, "So is that a yes or no to dinner?"

"Um, yes? If you think she wouldn't mind?"

"I think she should be alright with it.  As I said, she doesn't hate you, she's just a bit wary of you," he took a left turn toward his sister's apartment.

"Oh," Mistoffelees said and paused. "Alright. I mean, if you don't mind."

Coricopat glanced at him again, arching an eyebrow in confusion, "Why would I mind?"

Mistoffelees shrugged. "I... I actually don't know. Just, I'm not sure you've ever invited me out to dinner, let alone to your sister's. Well, you did drag me to Macavity's once, and I guess I invited you to dinner but it still..." he shrugged again.

"Well, you could stand to not be alone tonight, at least for a while yet.  And, well, I figure that if we're going to keep working together, my sister should at the very least meet you on more amiable territory."  Alright, and maybe introducing him in a better light to the only family he gave a damn about mattered to Coricopat on a different level as well, but he was beyond not dealing with that fact.  Mistoffelees was his CI.  He was a co-worker and it was just easier if they got along with Tant, he'd keep telling himself that until it stuck.

Mistoffelees didn't mention he had Jenny and Jerrie, since it was likely if he went home he'd lock them both out. "Alright. Amiable territory I could live with."

The brunet offered him a faint smile, pulling up in front of his sister's apartment a few minutes later.

Mistoffelees considered the facade. "She lives with Bomba, right?"

Coricopat nodded, "Yes, Bomba might be there.  You still okay with this?"

"Yeah," Mistoffelees nodded. "Just don't want to be caught unawares if they were just seeing each other or living together."

"Oh, no they've been living together for a while now."  The lead agent finally got out of the car, "We'd better head up if we're going to." Nodding, Mistoffelees trailed up after him.


	18. Or You Could Stay to Make Sure That's True

Coricopat knocked on the door, his sister answering it a moment later, "Cori, good you made--and you brought a guest?  Didn't think to call ahead?"

"We were already on the road when I asked him to come, you don't mind do you?"  He asked, something in his eyes daring her to contradict him.

Tantomile shrugged, stepping aside, "Of course not.  Come on in, both of you.  Bomba's out for the evening, her father's in town." 

"Lovely to see you again," Mistoffelees greeted, trying not to be too charming but still friendly.

"And you.  I hope you don't mind spaghetti, that's pretty much what I had time for this evening.  I've got César salad and garlic bread to go with it as well," Tant spoke as she led the way toward where she had the table set.  She slipped into the kitchen and got another plate and set of silverware.

"Of course I don't mind," he said, trailing after. "It's a very traditional meal."

She offered a flickering smile that didn't reach her eyes, but closely resembled some of her brother's expressions, "It is at that.  How's work been for the two of you?"  She fetched another goblet and then located a bottle of wine, the food already on the table.

Mistoffelees glanced over at Coricopat and back to his sister. "Well we accidently went undercover as lovers and his play just about got me shot."

Tantomile blinked at that before pouring the wine and sending a long glance in her brother's direction, "Lovers, hm?  And you nearly got him shot.  Remind me to warn people off from sleeping with you."

"You've been doing that for years, Tant," he responded, dishing up some salad.  "But, yes, nearly got him shot.  Accidentally of course."

"Of course..."

"I still don't understand why you thought setting me up as a mole for a man who is more serious about his comic books then a person's life was a good plan,” Mistoffelees said, watching the twins and wondering about how similar they were when they moved.

"Because we can actually keep a better eye on you than they were on Madison.  And it gives us the ability to disrupt everything far more effectively," Coricopat answered.

Tant arched an eyebrow, "It was all you could think of, wasn't it?"

Her brother gave her a long look, "I...yeah pretty much."

"Well that's reassuring," Mistoffelees muttered.

Coricopat set an apologetic glance his way.  Tant shook her head, "At least you didn't get shot.  Learn now that Cori's plans have a way of working, but they aren't always the most brilliant ones."

"I noticed that," Mistoffelees said, giving him a long look.

"Sorry," he murmured.  "We know everything we need to know about his safe's security system now, and he thinks you can be turned, which means we can play his partner against him as well."

"At the cost of me being nearly shot," Mistoffelees reminded him.

"Alright, yes, but you weren't, so maybe we can almost call this a win?"  Coricopat offered.

Tantomile rolled her eyes, "Coricopat, you almost got him killed.  Don't be ridiculous."

"I like her," Mistoffelees smirked at Coricopat.

Coricopat rolled his eyes, a mirror to his sister's action, "Of course you do."

"And," Tant added, "I'm sure you have an interesting perspective on art, and its value."

"Tant..." Coricopat said warningly.

"I'm just saying, Cori, it could be an interesting conversation."

"Only if I'm allegedly discussing it," he returned sweetly.

That earned a sharp look from Coricopat and a laugh from his sister, "It would be more a discussion of the styles that are popular, the sort of things that really ought to be displayed in the museums currently, and the techniques of favorite artists, things that are entirely legal."

"Oh. Then yes, that would be a fantastic conversation," Mistoffelees said with a grin.

Coricopat groaned, looking at Mistoffelees, "And this is why I never mentioned my sister and her connections to you."

"You didn't mention me, Cori?  I'm hurt now," Tantomile crooned, relaxing even more as her brother grew fractionally more tense.

"Of course I mentioned you, hard to talk about me without talking about my brat of a sister," he replied, taking a sip of his wine.

Mistoffelees grinned. "I am getting that wine too, right? But yes, you came up, but in a vague sort of a way. It was very disappointing really."

Tantomile poured him a glass and handed it over, "Disappointing?  Whatever did he tell you?"

"I believe only that you existed and when he was explaining why he avoided his parents," Mistoffelees said after a pause.

Tant glanced at her brother, "So you told him about..."

"Why we were both disinherited," Coricopat responded.

She nodded slightly, "Fair enough.  But of course he left Bomba out, he's still in fits from time to time about me with an FBI agent.  One of his agents to boot."

Mistoffelees arched a brow. "He remembers he's an FBI agent too right?"

"I think that's why he disagrees with it," she answered.  "Have you heard his 'too much stress' excuse yet?"

"I'm sitting right here, you two," Coricopat protested.

"Oh, several times," Mistoffelees nodded. "Something about why he's never really been with someone? I mean, really, stress is your excuse?"

"It's a legitimate excuse.  Mac and Grids are an exception not the rule.  I've seen marriages and relationships crumble time after time after time," Coricopat responded.

Tant gave him a long look, "And it has nothing to do with anything of your own prior experience."

"Shut up, Tant."  His tone was terse, and he shot his sister a warning glance.

"I'm going to try not to press for details of that and just tell you that it's very much not a legitimate excuse," Mistoffelees said, trying to focus on the wine.

Tant glanced between the two men, arching a brow at her brother who ignored the look.  She shrugged, speaking to Mistoffelees, "Well, everyone agrees with you there except my dear brother.  He'll come around eventually I'm sure."

"Or he'll die better and alone," Mistoffelees shrugged. "But we'll hope for the later."

Coricopat rolled his eyes, "You two show such glowing confidence in my inter-personal abilities."

"You nearly got him shot today," Tantomile pointed out.  "Your inter-personal communication skills officially qualify as broken."

"Not to mention the fact you haven't had a date since, when?" Mistoffelees asked, looking him over.

"Before we caught you," he answered.

"That one doesn't count.  You went out with him to throw it in Father's face when he was trying to talk to you," Tant reminded.  "The last real date you had--"

"It was a perfectly enjoyable evening.  It counts as a date, even if it didn't go anywhere."

"Alright, we'll count it as a causal date, but... that's been over four years!" Mistoffelees blinked at him in shock.

"I've been busy," he protested, earning another long look from his sister.  It took very little effort for Cori to translate the look as 'no you've been distracted by something else', but that was from years of receiving that look.

"No, no, that's not how this works," Mistoffelees shook his head. "If something matters you make the time."

"I haven't found anything that matters yet," Coricopat replied simply.  "Nothing that matters enough to take the time for."

"But," Mistoffelees paused. "Where would you _look_ for that?"

"I don't look.  I don't really want to."

Tant glanced at her brother and shook her head, drawling, "When what's left of you gets around to what's left to be gotten, what's left to be gotten won't be worth getting whatever it is you've got left."

Her brother blinked at her for a long moment, "You did not just quote White Christmas at me.  Again."

"Someday you'll find a crushing reply to it, until then, yes.  I did.  And I'll keep doing so."

Mistoffelees blinked at them before laughing into his wine glass. "Oh. Yes."

Coricopat rolled his eyes, "I'm just ever so grateful Bomba is out tonight.  I'm not certain I could handle both of you."

"You never can," Tant answered sweetly.

"He can barely handle her at the office some days," Mistoffelees added sweetly.

"Ganging up on me.  She doesn't even need to be here for me to be outnumbered," Coricopat looked between them, shaking his head.

Tant smiled, "You make it so easy, Cori."

"You really do," Mistoffelees agreed. "I can suddenly just imagine your childhood."

The agent closed his eyes at that, "Oh, god, please don't."

"But it's just so much fun!" Mistoffelees chirped.

Coricopat shook his head, "Glad I can be an amusement."

"You're always an amusement," Mistoffelees returned, just as sweetly.

That earned a faint smile, "Alright, I'll accept that."

Tantomile glanced toward the clock, "How long are you two planning on staying?"

Mistoffelees glanced at Coricopat. "I have no idea. I was along for the ride."

Coricopat shrugged, "It's been a long day, I was thinking of heading homeward shortly."

"But first," Mistoffelees said, glancing over. "I would really like at least some art talk. I've been surrounded by Philistines for far too long."

Tant laughed at that, "That I can certainly oblige."

w-w-w

Several days later, Avery stood next to Mistoffelees, watching Reed in another business room through the glass.

His hands shoved into his pants pocket, Mistoffelees looked calm enough, even as he kept tracking where Avery was. "Now what?"

"I want you to tell Reed that we're dumping the stock next Friday," Avery said, not even bothering to look over at him.

"When's the real dump?" Mistoffelees asked.

"This Friday," Avery said, not worrying about telling him the information. "While we're celebrating, he'll watch his stock become worthless." He clapped Mistoffelees on the shoulder and the other winced at the contact. "So go make this worthwhile."

Reed was in the middle of a conversation as Mistoffelees approached, "Get them from wherever it is they make them, I'm not entirely certain.  And that's all we do..."  He glanced in Mistoffelees' direction, a brow rising.

"Excuse me," Mistoffelees said, charm firmly in place. "Could you give me a minute?"

Reed nodded to the person he'd been talking to and they left.  He turned back to Mistoffelees, "This better be good."

"I think you'll find it informative," Mistoffelees said under his breath. "Do you know who I am?"

"Yeah, you're Avery's new rain maker."

"Good. Your partner's cutting you out."

"What?"  Reed shook his head, "Get lost kid, you don't know what you're talking about."

Barely managing not to roll his eyes, Mistoffelees brought out the recording pen, playing back his conversation with Avery for the other man.

Reed's eyes narrowed, "Son of a bitch.  I'm going to kill him."

"Or you could wait and gain the upper hand," Mistoffelees shrugged, carefully putting the pen back into his inner suit pocket.

Eyeing him the older man frowned, "Why are you telling me this?"

"Well, I figured it might be worth something," he said, shrugging again.

"And why would I need you?  Convince me."

"Because Avery trusts me," Mistoffelees lied easily. "Because that can make revenge that much better, and that much more profitable."

Reed considered him for a long moment, "What do you need?"

"His financial records. To prove he's been running these rooms so I can hold that information over his head." It couldn't be that easy, could it? To ask for and receive that information.

Reed shook his head, "There's the rub.  He's got a ledger, but he's not likely to let you look at it."

"Well, what would it take to access it?" Mistoffelees asked.

"I couldn't say.  He keeps it locked up pretty tight in his vault."

"And there's nothing on computers?" Mistoffelees managed.

"He doesn't trust them.  Says they're too easy to hack into."

Mistoffelees suppressed a sigh. "His vault, you said?"

Reed nodded, "Yes, now if you'll excuse me I have work to do."

w-w-w

Mistoffelees tapped a pencil against the edge of the table, looking over at Coricopat. "He has a paper trail. Literally. He keeps everything on paper, not computers."

Coricopat sighed, leaning against the table, "Seriously?  He keeps it on paper?  Do you know where?"

Mistoffelees shook his head. "The guy have a vault or anything you saw?"

"Yeah, he had a vault.  Most deadly thing I've ever seen for security..."  The lead agent shook his head, "I'll see what I can pull up for schematics."

Mistoffelees made a face. "I really hate this guy. Can I hate this guy?"

"Get in line," the taller man muttered.

"Okay, good," Mistoffelees sighed, running a hand through his hair.

"Give me about an hour and we'll have schematics."

"Great," Mistoffelees sighed. "Coffee?"

"Same place as always," Coricopat answered as he exited the conference room to see what he could do about vault schematics.

Sighing as he watched him go, Mistoffelees finally stopped tapping the pencil, rising.

A little over an hour later found them back in the conference room along with Mac and Bomba.  Coricopat unrolled the schematics he'd been able to get, "Alright, so we've got a state of the art fire suppression system.  It's the same sort as top museums use.  If triggered, a polycarbonate glass wall seals the room and then a hydraulic vacuum sucks out the oxygen in ten seconds tops."

"So he keeps his illegal records with his comics?" Mistoffelees asked, making a face.

"So, no air for anyone in there?" Macavity asked, looking over it again.

"That's our best guess," Coricopat directed at Mistoffelees before glancing at Macavity.  "There is a kill switch.  Unfortunately we have no idea where it is."

"Wonderful," Mistoffelees managed. "I'm going to be the one to end up in there, aren't I?"

"Probably..."  The lead agent turned to Bomba, "Did you talk to tech lab?"

She nodded. "They have all the toys this week," she said, dropping something on the table. "There's a mini breather here. It should give you five minutes of air."

"And it'll fit perfectly in this," Coricopat set a cigar tube down next to it.

"Seriously not kidding about the toys thing," Mistoffelees said, picking the breather and cigar tube up, looking between them. "Wow, classy. I suppose I don't get a cigar with it?"

"No, no cigar.  Anything goes wrong, Mac and Bomba will be stationed with a unit right outside the property."

"What's their response time?" Mistoffelees demanded.

Coricopat glanced at Macavity and winced, "Roughly five minutes."

"Roughly," Mistoffelees said. "Please tell me that's an emphasis on _less_ then rather than _more than_." Off Macavity's expression he sighed. "Damn. I really want that cigar now."

"I'll be at the house to back you up in case anything goes wrong," Coricopat assured.

"Uh-huh," Mistoffelees said. "And our plan is?"

"We use the party Avery's having this Friday as a cover and we get you into that vault while they're celebrating.  It should give you plenty of time to find what we need and get back out before he even knows what hit him."

"And if this goes wrong I suffocate?"

"We'll have to make sure nothing goes wrong," the lead agent returned.

"Yeah," Mistoffelees drawled. "Or I can practice holding my breath."

w-w-w

On Friday, Avery met Coricopat at the door to his lake house, the party already in full swing. "You get a new Ferrari yet?" he asked in casual greeting.

Coricopat offered him a lazy smile, "Twin turbo V8 with adjustable rear spoilers.  It's quite the car."

"Please," Avery rolled his eyes. "When this is done you won't have to buy the street model. You ever been to the factory in Maranello?"

"No, I can't say that I have."

"They have their own wind tunnel, it's unreal," Avery said. "But you'll be able to get your own pre-release model straight from Italy."

Coricopat smirked slightly at that, "And won't that just be living the dream."

Avery nodded, entirely serious. "It's all about the dream."

The other man didn't comment on that as they finally entered the main room.  Coricopat's gaze swept over the assembled people, hesitating for a moment on Mistoffelees.

Mistoffelees met his eyes for a moment before carefully looking away, trying to pay attention to what Brad was actually saying beside him. Brad clapped Mistoffelees on the shoulder, "Hey, so what are you going to do with your money?"

Quickly, Mistoffelees looked over. "What? Oh, right. Europe, I think. Float around and live the high life there." It actually wasn't that far from what he'd once wanted to do.

"Damn.  Sounds like fun."

"Sure, who wouldn't want to relive the heyday of the British aristocracy," he said, unsure if he was being sarcastic anymore or not. "What about you?"

"I'm gonna buy an island," Brad answered, as though it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"An island," Mistoffelees repeated.

"Yep.  And then I'll learn how to play the guitar and just chill."

"You can do that without buying an island you know," Mistoffelees grinned.

Brad grinned right back, "Hey, don't kill the dream, bro."

"You're right, you're right," Mistoffelees said, holding his hands up. "I won't touch the dream again." He paused as a waitress went by, watching her.

Brad turned his attention in that direction, grinning, "Good looking girl, there."

"That she is," Mistoffelees agreed easily. Which she was but, not exactly to his type. "If you'll excuse me I believe this is supposed to be a celebration?"

"You'll be back in time for the toasting and the actual celebration, right, man?"

"Course I will," he said, holding up the cigar tube.

Brad's grin widened, "Yes!  See you then." Grinning, Mistoffelees slipped off after the waitress, turning quickly once he was out of sight and sliding into the vault, considering it.

Coricopat saw Mistoffelees slip away and checked his watch, taking a guess at how long they actually had. "Hey," Avery said beside him. "Ten minutes until we're rich."

"We're already rich," Coricopat reminded, glancing at the younger man.

"Richer then," Avery laughed. "Billionaire, Buffet rich. I think I want to go into space. Catch a ride on one of those Russian rockets up to the space station."

Coricopat shook his head as his phone rang, "You do that.  Excuse me a moment."  He stepped away, lowering his voice, "Edison."

"Hey, boss?" Macavity said, keeping his voice low. "Reed just showed up outside. And he looks fit to chew through the wall."

"What?  Damn.  Hold your positions, but be ready to move and fast."

Macavity relayed that order and turned back to the phone. "Be careful, yeah? And make sure Caffrey gets out of this alive, he was looking at little freaked."

"We're both getting out of this alive.  I'm headed that way now."  He hung up, heading out of the room as Reed slammed through the front door.

"Avery!"

"Reed," Avery said, turning to him with a grin. "What's up?"

"You're a son of a bitch, that’s what."

Avery's eyes widened before narrowing dangerously. "Why don't you ease up on that hostility?"

"Why don't you tell me what you're celebrating then?"  Reed gestured around the room, "I thought we didn't have anything to celebrate for another week."

"Just relaxing," Avery shrugged. "Figured the boys could use it."

"Nah.  I couldn't just let this go.  I know what you've been up to."

"Yeah?" Avery asked. "What sort of goddamn source would you have for that huh?"

"Your spy," Reed snapped in response.

" _My_ spy?" Avery repeated. "You're the one who hired him, I'm just flipping his back on you."

" _What_ are you talking about?"  The older partner looked confused and wary.

"Now you're going to play stupid with me?" Avery demanded.

"You thought he worked for me?  I never hired a spy,” Reed protested, the entire room silently watching them.

"Then," Avery narrowed his eyes, also noticing Coricopat missing. "Where the hell is he then?"

Brad came over, having seen Avery's attention shift, "Something wrong, boss?"

"Where the hell is Nick?"

"Crazy Eight?  He's getting busy with the..."  Brad's eyes widened as the waitress from earlier walked past with her tray, "...waitress."

Reed glanced at Avery, "He knows about the ledger." Avery's eyes narrowed as he turned and headed for the vault, grabbing a gun off the wall.

w-w-w

Coricopat rounded the corner to the vault, "Mistoffelees!"

Mistoffelees glanced up from where he'd lifted the book carefully from the pressure plate it was on, having taken a while to do it right. "Coricopat?"

"Reed's here, we need to," he glanced over his shoulder and swore, ducking into the vault when he spotted Avery.

Mistoffelees gaped as he noticed the gun. "Jesus," he cursed, hitting the plate to drop the glass just as Avery shot it.

In the van, Macavity swore. "Suit up, up, up! Move it, people!"

Coricopat looked around frantically as the wall shut, "We need to find the kill switch!"

"And you complain about how often guns are pointed at me," Mistoffelees managed, even as he fumbled with the case. "Here."

Coricopat shook his head once, "We look together.  Share the oxygen til Mac comes."

"It's five minutes," Mistoffelees said. "Two and half split." He glanced back at Avery, who watched them with a considering expression. "Oh, this is not going to help our cover... _take it_."

"Misto..."  Coricopat ignored Avery's presence, his expression pained.

"Find the damn switch, okay?" Mistoffelees said, already looking around the room and trying to think where it might be.

The agent nodded once and took the breather, moving swiftly and pushing the framed comics aside, trying to locate the switch.  His gaze darted to Mistoffelees intermittently as each frame evidenced more black wall space behind it.

There wasn't enough air to speak anymore, and Mistoffelees finally pushed aside one of the frames, pointing frantically to it on the wall before starting to collapse. Coricopat saw the motion out of the corner of his eye and crossed the room, withdrawing his gun and aiming it at Avery outside the vault as he hit the switch.

Avery smirked, raising his own gun at the same moment as Macavity finally rounded the corner, flanked by several more FBI agents. "Drop the gun, right the hell now."

Coricopat holstered his gun and dropped to his knees beside Mistoffelees, confident that Macavity would handle Avery.  He tapped the smaller man's chest, his grey eyes panicked, "Come on, Misto.  Damn it, come on..."

Mistoffelees sucked in a breath, blinking his eyes open. "So, not dead then?"

Rocking back on his heels, the taller brunet breathed a soft sigh of relieve, "No.  Not dead."

"Let's not do that again," Mistoffelees said, ignoring the look Avery was giving them as Macavity started to lead him away.

"I am completely behind that idea," Coricopat murmured, rising and offering the smaller man a hand up.

"Great," he said, eying the hand before accepting it.

Looking the other over, the agent drew a deep breath, "Come on, let's get out of here."

"I am all for that," Mistoffelees said, heading outside. They ended up on the steps looking out over the water as the other agents dealt with arresting everyone and gathering up the evidence.

Coricopat rested his elbows on his knees, his hands clasped as he looked out over the lake, "What you did in there..."

"I knew you'd take care of it," Mistoffelees shrugged, glancing back toward where people were being led away.

"You're crazier than I am..."

“Yeah, probably," Mistoffelees agreed. "But hey, all the people convinced we're lovers are going to jail now so that should be over at least."

Coricopat really wasn't certain whether that was good or bad, but he nodded, "Yes, at least."  He hesitated for a long moment, "Mistoffelees, there's...there's something I need to tell you.  And you need to listen to everything before you react."

"That doesn't sound good," Mistoffelees said, frowning before actually looking back over at him. "So, okay. what's up?"

"I know what he wants from you," the agent kept his gaze focused on the lake rather than on the man next to him.

"What?" Mistoffelees frowned. "Who?"

"The guy in the picture with Pounce.  You call himt he man with the ring."

Mistoffelees stared at him. " _How_ could you know that?"

Coricopat dropped his gaze to his hands, "Pounce told me.  And now, well, now I'm telling you."

For a long moment Mistoffelees didn't react. "You talked to Pounce," he managed, voice hollow.

"I...yes, I did.  After that trouble we had with Growltiger."

Mistoffelees stared at him again. "That was weeks ago."

The agent nodded very slightly, "Yes.  It was."

Mistoffelees scowled. "Anything else?"

"I have the same photo you do.  I've been searching, digging, trying to figure out who it is.  Beyond that...Like I said, I met with Pounce.  He...I...I told him to let you go, that I was sick of watching him twist you around.  He told me his price was a music box.  Something you'd stolen."  Coricopat shook his head, "He didn't even bat an eye."

Mistoffelees stood abruptly, walking down toward the water, finger tapping the side of his leg, unable to sit still. The agent drew a deep breath, giving the other a minute before he rose and followed him.

"You don't understand," Mistoffelees said finally. "Whatever he's doing..."

"What is he doing, Mistoffelees?  I’m only telling you what I saw."

"I don't know!" Mistoffelees sounded hurt. "Playing an angle. I just don't know."

"Misto...you may have to face the fact that he might not be on your side."

"How would you know?" Mistoffelees asked, finally turning to him.

"Cause there wasn't a flicker of concern for you in his eyes," Coricopat answered callously.

Eyes widening, Mistoffelees just gaped at him, a breeze from off the water the only movement.

Coricopat's eyes widened as he realized what he'd said and what he'd meant.  "Mistoffelees, I..."  He sought for another way to explain the lack of concern as he spoke quickly, "I startled him, he wasn't expecting me.  There were other things immediately on his mind and he did give us the key for getting him back."

Mistoffelees looked away. "He said a music box?"

The agent nodded very slightly, "Yes.  That's what he said.  Do you know where it is?"

"It's made of amber," Mistoffelees remarked. "Looted by Nazi's during World War Two," he added, not touching on where it was.

"You mean he was talking about the music box from Catherine the Great's room in her palace?"  He whistled lowly, "That's got to be worth a few bucks..."

"But not all this," Mistoffelees said, still not looking at him.

"Then there's something inside it," the agent offered.

"Holding some secret probably," Mistoffelees agreed.

Coricopat considered that for a long moment, "I want to see it."

Mistoffelees paused. "I don't have it."

"You...what do you mean you don't have it?"

"I didn't correct the world when they assumed I had it," he said, wincing. "But I don't have it. I never have."

"Do you know how to get it?"

Mistoffelees considered. "Maybe. Given time."

"I don't want to ask do I?"

"No," Mistoffelees said softly, eyes skittering over Coricopat and refusing to rest on him.

The agent sighed softly, "I'm sorry, Mistoffelees.  I'll...take you home if you're ready to go?"

Mistoffelees looked over the water again. "Why'd you do it?"

"Why'd I do what?"  Coricopat glanced at him.

"Meet Pounce like that. Without telling me."

"Because I didn't know if I would be able to reach him.  And then I didn't know what would happen there.  And after it...well, I was...hoping to have something a little more substantial to offer you."

"He wouldn't even tell me what he wanted," Mistoffelees said, aware he was starting to get high pitched and possibly sound petulant and not caring. "He just told me to give the man with the ring _everything_ so why would he tell you?"

"I don't know," the other replied softly.  "I told him I didn't like what he was doing to you, and I would see if I could get what he wanted for him.  That's all."

"And what is he doing to me?" Mistoffelees asked softly. "Since you seem to have a better idea of that then I do."

"You've been yanked around, twisted into knots, and back in a relative prison when you should have been out months ago."  He gestured to where Mistoffelees' anklet usually was, "You're good.  You're the smartest guy I've ever met and I hate seeing that happen to you."

Finally Mistoffelees looked at him, shock evident. "You... that... But..."

"But what?"  Coricopat shook his head, "I, really, I don't like watching it."

"But getting me back into prison has been amazing beneficial for you."

"But it isn't right.  Whether it's been beneficial or not."

Mistoffelees finally looked away again. "I need to go," he said finally.

"Do you want me to give you a ride home?"

Mistoffelees hesitated. "Think Macavity is free yet?"

The lead agent looked toward where the last of Avery's men had been carted off, "If he's not I can take over what he's doing if you would prefer."

"No, it's just," Mistoffelees started and shook his head. "Please?"

Coricopat nodded once, "Come on, we'll go find him."

"Thank you," Mistoffelees managed, trailing after him.

w-w-w

Mistoffelees barely offered Macavity a goodbye when they reached Jenny's house, sliding out of the car and taking the stairs quickly. He slammed into the apartment, and wasn't surprised in the least to find Jerrie sitting there. "Oh. You."

"Well, that was cheery.  What's got you up tight tonight?"  The redhead looked up from his glass of wine and scratching Oscar's ears.

"The question is what hasn't?" Mistoffelees replied, shrugging out of his coat quickly and running a hand through his hair.

Jerrie scooped up the cat and offered him to Misto, quietly,  "What happened now?"

Mistoffelees considered Oscar, who mewed at him before finally accepting the growing kitten, sitting down hard. "I know what Pounce wants. What he couldn't tell me but knew to pick out of my entire collection."

Blinking, his friend shifted so he was facing him fully, "What?  How do you know?  What is it?"

"The music box," Mistoffelees replied. "And he wouldn't tell me but he told Coricopat."

"The...Well, then give him the music--wait, he told the suit?"

"He told the suit," Mistoffelees said, watching as Oscar walked around his lap and curled up, tail flickering over his nose. "He met with Coricopat and told _him_ but he would refuse to tell me."

Jerrie considered that for a long moment, "So what are you going to do?"

"I don't have the box," Mistoffelees said after a moment's pause. "I never did. I never even saw the damn thing in person."

"You...What?  But you told everyone you had it," he protested.

"Actually, I didn't," Mistoffelees said. "That all assumed I had it because I came home in mostly one piece, even though Teazer was in a Russian hospital. I never corrected them. Too big of a feather in my goddamn cap."

"It, well it did make you appear super-human."  Jerrie sighed, "So now what?"

"Find it I suppose."

"And what?  Steal it?  Welcome back," the redhead murmured.

"It's not... that simple," Mistoffelees said.

"...How isn't it?"

"Because," Mistoffelees said, rising, ignoring the look Oscar gave him when he moved, and disturbing the cat with the sound. "Because I don't know what I'm doing. Because Coricopat is... is an idiot who talks too much, and tells me things like that he looked in Pounce's eyes and saw no concern for me, and Pounce wouldn't talk to me! But he would to the suit, the suit that says he hates to see this happen to me, to see me twisted around by someone."

Jerrie looked at him for a long minute, "So...let me see if I'm hearing this right.  You're not sure about getting the music box to get Pounce back--which might I remind you has been your motivation since you got out--because you're confused by the suit?  Or did I misunderstand?"

Mistoffelees paused. "Actually, yeah, something like that."

"He told you he didn't see concern for you from Pounce?  Are we sure he isn't majorly biased, because I personally think he is, but that may be me."

Mistoffelees paused. "Have you seen much concern from Pounce?" he asked. "I've been doing everything, scrambling after him frantically and he won't even..."

Jerrie sighed, picking at the arm of Misto's couch, "I...He loves you.  Or he says he does.  More than that?  I don't know."

"I don't think Pounce has even said that in quite a while," Mistoffelees said softly.

"You haven't heard from him in quite a while," his friend reminded, getting up from where he'd still been sitting.  "What do you _want_ to do, Misto?"

"I haven't heard from him because he won't talk to me. But he'll talk to the FBI and _I don't know_."

"No," Jerrie shook his head.  "He'll talk to the suit.  _Your_ suit.  The person who might be able to have some idea of how to help you both out."

"My suit?" Mistoffelees said after another pause, unsure how to even begin feeling about that. "How is he even supposed to help?"

"I don't know, I'm just saying I see possible reasons for that.  Hell, I don't talk to the FBI, but I'll talk to the suits you work with if I have to."

Mistoffelees shook his head. "And if Coricopat was right and he is just playing me?"

"Then I dunno what to tell you," Jerrie answered softly.

Running a ahnd through his hair, Mistoffelees sat down again. "Would you help me steal the music box if I asked?"

Jerrie considered him for a long moment and then nodded, "You know I would."

"Thanks," Mistoffelees said, running a hand down Oscar's spine, smiling faintly as the kitten stretched out, purring.

"Anytime you need anything, Misto.  We're golden."

"I hope that remains so," Mistoffelees said faintly.

Jerrie hesitated before nodding, "You want me to stick around tonight or leave you with the cat?"

Mistoffelees considered the open wine bottle. "Whichever you like."

“If I leave are you going to get drunk and have to deal with that hangover tomorrow?"

"I promise to drink responsibility? Or you could stay to make sure that's true."

Jerrie settled back onto the couch, "Yeah I could stick around.  You up to a mindless movie or something tonight?"

"Only if it's a classic and not one of your cult ones," Mistoffelees replied, grabbing the wine and Oscar and moving to the couch.

"I like my cult ones!  They are classics in their own rights!"  Jerrie protested with a grin.

"Sure," Mistoffelees agreed, not having the energy for an argument. "But I prefer Casablanca."

The redhead nodded, "So we'll watch Casablanca then."

"You'll survive that?" Mistoffelees asked.

Jerrie grinned again, "I'm sure I'll find a way to survive.  But I vote for one of my cult classics next week, okay?"

Mistoffelees groaned. "We'll see what next week looks like."

"Eventually we'll find one of those movies that you actually like."

"I liked, um," Mistoffelees paused, petting Oscar's head as he sipped the wine. "One of them. Dr. Strangelove counts right?" Mistoffelees added after a beat.

Jerrie glanced at him and shrugged, "Yeah, we'll count it at this point."

"Then, see?" Mistoffelees sighed, sinking into the couch.

His friend grinned, "Alright, one so far."  He rose to put the movie in and then settled back onto the couch next to Mistoffelees. Offering him more wine, Mistoffelees moved Oscar between them, glancing down as the kitten started washing his hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes I forget just how much I enjoy this story. 
> 
> If you do as well, please leave it some love and affection, it's been lonely.


	19. Sounds Like a Horror Movie

Several days later Mistoffelees strolled into his apartment, flipping through the mail Jenny had dropped off with him. "This seems an inordinate amount," he murmured, frowning.

Jerrie looked up from where he was seated at the table, "Most of it's probably junk.  How do you get so much mail though?"

"I have no idea," he murmured, pausing at a post card. "Huh."

Craning his neck the taller man tried to look at the card, "What's that?"

"The front's blank," Mistoffelees said, flipping it. "Not name and the return address is a PO Box."

"Well that's useful."  Jerrie tilted his head to read what was written on it, "It's a chess move, isn't it?  Think it could be from Pounce?"

"Pounce never liked chess," Mistoffelees replied, shaking his head. All things considered, his tone when mentioning Pounce was surprisingly mild, the mystery of the post card distracting him.

"Strange..."  Jerrie frowned at the card, "Thoughts?"

"They open with black," Mistoffelees replied, moving over to where he kept a chess board on his bookcase.

"Unusual.  That symbolically makes you the virtuous white.  Who do you think it is?"

"I don't know," Mistoffelees frowned. "Anyone in the world still think I'm virtuous?"

Jerrie bit back a laugh at that, "You did four years in prison, so the 'virtuous world' doesn't think so.  And now you consult for the feds, so the rest don't either.  So no?"

Mistoffelees frowned. "Unless it was a criminal worse than me," he said finally.

"Alright, that's true.  But worse is so very relative.  Guess we'll see?"

Mistoffelees tapped the postcard against the table, considering. "Any theories?"

"Off hand?  It depends on what we're calling worse," Jerrie shrugged.  "Do we call worse something worse in your area of expertise, or do we call it violent crime?"

"Someone who would consider me virtuous who plays chess," Mistoffelees said and paused. "Please tell me my hunch is wrong,” he said, looking over at Jerrie.

"You think it's Smith," Jerrie didn't ask.

Mistoffelees just scowled at the board. "I'll guess we'll see how the game goes. We never finished our last one."

His friend let out a low whistle, "Good luck."

"Great," Mistoffelees muttered. "Just fantastic."

"Well, so what now?  You sending your next move to that PO box then?"

"Not sure I want to encourage him," Mistoffelees said, making the move on the board anyway and considering. "There are plenty of shops that sell post cards around here."

"He already knows your address, not sure what more you can do."  Jerrie shrugged, "Might as well send it.  I mean you can always drop it."

"And then he can come blazing in with that as an excuse," Mistoffelees pointed out. "It's Martin. It's like offering a fire a place to stay for the night."

"So, in other words, you either send the move or that sociopath shows up on Jenny's doorstep?  God I hate that guy."  The redhead muttered, shaking his head.

"It’s just a theory at this point that’s what he’ll do. Besides, you only hate him because he tried to shoot you last time you met," Mistoffelees said, glancing over.

"And that's a very legitimate reason!"

"I suppose so," Mistoffelees said, suppressing a smile. "It's Martin though. I feel like it's his way of showing affection."

"Trying to shoot me was showing me affection?"  Jerrie looked at him like he'd grown another head.

"It's Martin," Mistoffelees repeated, moving the chess board aside.

"And that makes it all better," the redhead shook his head.  "I'm going to talk to your cat for a while.  He makes sense."

"He is also incapable of speech."

"Which might explain why he makes more sense."

Mistoffelees shook his head. "Right. Just remember to take your meds and feed him, alright?"

"No meds.  Meds are the cause of more issues than anything else.  I'll go feed the cat though."

"Allergy meds?" Mistoffelees blinked at him. “There’s a problem with those now?”

"Those.  Right.  Those.  I'll go see about those to while you play chess via post card with a guy who tried to shoot me last time I saw him," Jerrie answered, moving over to where Oscar was curled up and scooping up the kitten.

Rolling his eyes, Mistoffelees turned his attention back to the chessboard again.

o-o-o-o

Mistoffelees looked at the next file and sighed, rubbing a hand over his eyes. "Can we have a nice jewelry theft or something? If I look at one more mortgage case I'm going to cry."

"Don't jinx anything," Bomba replied, not bothering to look up.

"It could be worse," Coricopat remarked, skimming over another file.  He glanced up as Macavity's phone rang.

"How?" Mistoffelees groaned as Macavity picked up.

"Hey, hon."

The lead agent shook his head at Mistoffelees, "Don't ask."

Griddlebone’s voice held a smile over the phone line, "Hey.  How would you like to come home for lunch?"

"I'd certainly like that a lot," Macavity grinned.

"Good.  I'm trying a new caterer for an upcoming event.  I would love your opinion on the food."

Macavity paused, suddenly sensing something else at play. "So, what's the menu?"

"Well..."  She drew it out, "Sampling of pate, cooked goose.  A lot of fancy stuff."

"Right," Macavity said, glancing at where Mistoffelees was creating paper planes and sending them flying toward Coricopat's head. "You know how much I love the fancy stuff."

"Oh, and honey?  Feel free to bring Misto."

Coricopat caught one of the planes, unfolding it and offering Mistoffelees an exasperated look that was tinged with something bordering on affection before refolding it and sending it back.

Macavity sighed. "I figured it was leading toward that. You sure though? He's currently folding important paperwork into airplanes and waging war on Cori."

"Bring them both if you like.  I want to borrow his palate.  Yours too, by the way."

"Uh huh," he replied, watching as Mistoffelees grinned at Coricopat and tossed a plane at Bombalurina. "We'll leave now."

"Alright, I'll see you soon, sweetheart."

"See you soon, hon," Macavity said, unable to help smiling as he clicked the phone shut.

Coricopat glanced up from where he was smoothing out another former paper airplane as Mac returned, "Grids?"

"Yeah. She wants to borrow palates for a tasting."

That earned an arched eyebrow, but Coricopat shrugged, "She say how many?"

"You and Misto," he said and glanced at Bomba. "Unless you want to--"

"You're on your own," she replied shortly. "With them."

Coricopat smiled at Bomba, "Well, then we'll call it an early lunch.  Meet back here at 1:30 and we'll see if we can find anything worthwhile in the files."

She grinned at him. "Your sister will be happy that I make it to lunch on time for once."

"Remind her I let you off early, please.  I would rather hear a thank you than a 'She missed lunch again' from her this week," Cori responded.

"I'll be sure to pass that along," Bomba replied, rising and shuffling her files back together, having to pause to unfold one and shooting Mistoffelees a long look. He smiled serenely back at her and she scowled, shaking her head.

Coricopat rose, "Shall we head out then?  You driving, Mac?"

"Sure if you promise not to get up to any hijinks in the back seat," Macavity said, rolling his eyes as he stood.

The lead agent blinked at that, "Excuse me?  Never mind.  Don't explain that."

"I would never," Mistoffelees said innocently at the same time and Macavity just shook his head.

"I'm just so glad my wife is allowing me to come to my own house for lunch too."

Coricopat laughed, clapping his friend on the shoulder, "Well, shouldn't keep her waiting then."

o-o-o-o

A short while later Macavity strolled inside. "Honey! I brought the advanced palates with me."

Grids turned from where she was at the table, offering them a smile as she crossed the living room, "Hey, honey."  She kissed Macavity’s cheek before glancing at Mistoffelees and Coricopat, "Great to see you guys."

"Thanks for having us," Coricopat returned.

"Thanks for the invite," Mistoffelees said, giving Griddlebone a crooked smile and Macavity blinked.

Griddlebone returned the smile, elbowing her husband slightly, "Of course.  If you guys'll come into the dining room I've got it set up."

Macavity pouted at her as Mistoffelees moved into the dining room. "Ooh, foie gras."

Coricopat's brow rose, "You've quite a lot of it."

Griddlebone shrugged, "Yeah.  I want you to try this one first, 'kay?"  She offered each of them a sample of the selected one.

"They look good," Mistoffelees said.

"Uh, yeah," Macavity managed. "Delicious," but his expression as he tasted it said anything but.

"And that's why I wanted to invite Misto and Cori," Grids murmured to her husband.  Coricopat sniffed the foie gras, wrinkled his nose and took the barest of tastes before setting it down quickly.

"Cos they're better liars?" Macavity offered as Mistoffelees chewed through the entire sample.

"No, because they appreciate fine cuisine," she answered.

"No one could lie that well," Coricopat muttered, glancing at Mistoffelees.

"Fine cuisine is not that," Mistoffelees murmured. "Sorry."

Grids picked up a sample and sniffed it, wrinkling her nose and setting it down quickly, "Oh, yeah, that does smell bad.  Thank God you guys tried it first.  Okay, then, this caterer's off my list."

"Please tell me you're feeding us food too," Mistoffelees pleaded.

"Who was your other tester?" Macavity asked, gesturing to the two coffee cups on the table.

Grids nodded in answer to Mistoffelees, moving over to the fridge as she answered Mac, "No one."

"You've got two coffee cups on the table," Coricopat pointed out.

"Oh, right.  I made coffee for the cable guy.  It went out this morning, so he came by to fix it."

"That was fast," Mistoffelees blinked.

"When did you call them?" Macavity asked, tilting his head at one of the cups.

"Actually, they called me."  She pulled out some sandwich fixings and macaroni salad, "They accidentally cut a power line down the street.  They were fixing the cable, so they sent someone.  I thought it was a little strange too, but I actually asked the neighbors and their cable went out as well."  Catching the looks the three men wore she paused, "Why... what's wrong?"

Macavity shrugged, moving to the phone and going back through the history, hitting dial when he reached the number as Mistoffelees pulled a notepad to him and wrote down "BUG" in large letters.

"So where's the galley your client is hosting?" Mistoffelees asked, keeping the conversation going in case anyone was actually listening.

Griddlebone's eyes widened as Coricopat moved silently around the room, helping Mac search for the planted bug, "It's...it's at the Met.  Next week.  Gonna be big, which means finding the right hors d'ouvres."

"I love the Met," Mistoffelees said brightly, gaze following the others. "They have a fantastic Matisse I've always admired.  It's on the second floor, right near the fire exit."

Griddlebone watched the two agents, still speaking to Mistoffelees, "I think I know the one you mean.  It really is beautiful."

Coricopat pulled the cable box out and pulled the bug off of it, tossing it to Mac without a word.

"Now what?" Mistoffelees asked softly.

"Now?" Macavity snarled into the bug. "Now I'm pissed off!" and he smashed the bug on the ground under his foot.

Coricopat nodded, moving over to gather the food supplies from the counter.  He nodded toward the patio, "Let's talk out there."

Mistoffelees nodded, putting a hand on Griddlebone's back as they walked. Grids glanced at him and offered a shaky smile, sinking down into one of the chairs at the patio table.

Coricopat set the food down, glancing at Macavity. "What the hell?" Macavity demanded.

The lead agent glanced at Mistoffelees, "What do you think?  Growltiger?"

He nodded mutely. "I can't think of anyone else."

"That bastard from OPR?" Macavity demanded. "Why is he tapping _my_ phone?"

"I don't..." Mistoffelees started and paused.

Coricopat turned his attention fully on Mistoffelees, "What?  What did you just think?"

"He wants the music box," Mistoffelees said.

"Music box?" Macavity demanded.

"Something I'm supposed to have stolen. The history suggest it's hiding something but no one really knows what. Or, no one I've ever talked to knows," Mistoffelees shook his head. "He wants it something really bad though. And he has Pounce. If he thinks you're in on this..." he paused again, looking at Coricopat. "We need to sweep your house too."

"You mean there could be more of them?"  Grids looked at him, her eyes begging him to say no.

"OPR has too much reach inside the bureau for us to use that," Coricopat murmured and biting back the urge to swear.

"There's probably more," Mistoffelees said softly. "I'm sorry. But if we can't use the bureau for thsi..."

"Seriously?" Macavity said. "Not him. Please not him."

Griddlebone turned to her husband, "Honey, Mac, we have to put a stop to this.  Please."

"Getting rid of the bugs won't put a stop to whatever's going on, will it?" Macavity asked, looking at Mistoffelees.

"I'm working on it."

"We'll get this sorted out and finish it," Coricopat responded.  "But we'll start with the bugs."

"You can play nice with Jerrie," Mistoffelees said and Macavity scowled.

"Jerrie?"  Grids glanced between them, "Who is that?"

"The cleaner I know. Also one of Mac's childhood friends," Mistoffelees replied.

"Not friend," Macavity said quickly.  "More like hench. Okay, maybe sorta friend. It's complicated."

"Child..."  Grids' brows rose, "Well, I look forward to this then I guess."

"No, no, don't look forward," Macavity shook his head. "In fact, be out of the house."

His wife's lips quirked slightly at that, "You don't want me to meet him?"

"He...can be a little odd," Coricopat responded.

Macavity just shook his head and Mistoffelees laughed. "I think you'll get along fabulously with him."

Grids finally laughed quietly, "Well, I'll take your word for it, Misto, and when I meet him I'll let you know how it goes."

"I don't know," he said. "I might come just to watch."

"And it would mean someone Mac knows is here to keep an eye, right honey?"  She offered Macavity a smile.

"I'm leaving my house in the hands of two con men," Macavity said in despair to Coricopat.

"Come on," Mistoffelees said, standing and holding a hand out to Griddlebone. "I know you invited us here for lunch, but all things considered I'll treat you to lunch instead."

Coricopat smirked, "It's worse.  You're leaving your wife in their hands."

She took Misto's hand and rose, offering her husband and his friend a shrug, "I'll see you boys later."

Mistoffelees grinned, leading her out with a "Sushi?"

Macavity shook his head. "Too late, she's already in their hands. It's the house I'm hoping to save now."

"Well, you can put anything of value at my place for the day or two that Jerrie's here sweeping the place," Coricopat assured him.

"Thanks," Macavity sighed and gave him a long look. "So, what's up with you?"

"What do you mean?"  He reached over and started piecing together a sandwich.

"The paper airplanes sound like a place to start," Macavity said, propping his chin one hand.

"What about them?"

"The fact they existed could be a start," Macavity said, propping his chin up in his palm and watching him.

"He needs amusement.  The papers weren't ruined beyond repair," Coricopat shrugged, trying to brush it off.

"So he needs amusement and you're willing to provide?" Macavity asked. "How deep have you gotten yourself, Cor?"

Coricopat leaned back in his chair, "It was folded paper, Mac.  Hardly deep at all, if you ask me."

"It's the latest symptom of a deeper issue," Macavity said, reaching out to start putting together a sandwich for himself. "You've been falling for weeks and it's just getting more obvious to anyone not say, him or you."

"He's my probationary CI, Mac.  Do you have any idea how much trouble I will end up in if that's true?"  The lead agent reached forward and picked up a piece of cheese to nibble at.

"Because that's ever stopped anyone from sleeping with their CI," Macavity shook his head. "I'm not saying you're untouchable because god knows that man keeps walking into trouble. But if you keep working and solving your cases no one is going to look too hard at that. That's not the point I'm making here."

"Then what point are you making?"  Coricopat decided to play dumb rather than deal with the issue.

"Oh for the love of fuck, Cor," Macavity said and shook his head. "You've been staring at him, getting jealous when he flirts with girls, giving him extra coffee, going to dinner at his place and moping when he runs off and does something stupid. Not to mention entertaining and amusing him. You really want me to spell this impending disaster out for you?"

"Well, what am I supposed to do about it?  For god's sake, Mac, it's not like I can do anything.  I threw him in prison, until that stock-fraud case he thought I was the one who was keeping Pouncival away, and he's still tangled up with that emotional train wreck as well," Coricopat drew a sharp breath and turned his attention to making a sparse sandwich.

"Which is why you've been making that sandwich for so long," Macavity said, arching a brow.

"I say again: what am I supposed to do?"  He finally put the top slice of bread on the sandwich and took a bite.  He grimaced and opened it again and pulled off a couple of items.

"Oh for the love of god," Macavity said, rolling his eyes. "Just eat food, Cor. Besides, I'm not saying you should do anything but rather a greater understanding of yourself."

"I put too much on it," he answered.  "Look, Macavity, I know I've fallen for him.  But there's nothing I can do about that.  There's no getting over him or give myself space.  I'm his handler."

"It presents difficulties," Macavity agreed. "But you'll have to let off steam somehow."

He nibbled at the sandwich, grimacing at it again, but deciding that he'd rather not hear about pulling more off, "How?  We don't even have a case at the moment that will distract me--it's average open and shut mortgage fraud."

"I'd suggest golf or something that involves physical action," Macavity offered. "Or meaningless one night stands."

"Because I am entirely the sort who's capable of one night stands," Coricopat drawled.  "I'll see about some sort of activity."

Macavity laughed. "You could always try and find some short chap with black hair."

"Fantastic.  That's going to be exactly what I need to get over him."  He sighed, "Look, Mac, I appreciate the suggestions, but it's not going to be that easy."

"Never know until you try," Macavity just smirked wider, taking a bite out of his sandwich.

Coricopat pinched the bridge of his nose, but he finally nodded, "Alright, I'll try."  He finally offered a sharp grin, "So, Jerrie's going to be visiting and sweeping your house then."

"We're not talking about that," Macavity said darkly, munching through his sandwich.

"So, if Misto and Jerrie are here, then what are the chances that your wife doesn't bond with the redhead as well?" He arched an eyebrow, still grinning, "After all, she took to Mistoffelees well enough."

"We're not talking about it," Macavity repeated, voice going even lower. "Because I refuse to think about it."

Coricopat finished off his sandwich, "So you're going to leave them alone in your house?  Shall I see if anyone's available to watch them for you?"

"Like who?" Macavity asked. "Bomba would just be more fuel on the fire."

"Well, I'd offer Tant, but we know she'd just tell Bomba.  Cameras won't do any good, Jerrie will disable them first thing. I could get one of the lower ranking agents to do it."

"They'd just be exposed to the horror stories I'm sure both Jerrie and Misto would start coming up with, and I'm not sure I want those people exposed," Macavity shook his head.

"But you're alright with Grids being exposed."  Coricopat couldn't help but smirk, "You could take the day off tomorrow."

"I'm not sure," Macavity started and remembered when Jerrie had known him. "Actually, that would be good. I'll see you in a few days."

Coricopat rose, "See you then.  Good luck, Mac."

"Yeah yeah," he waved him off. "Go do something useful."

The lead agent nodded once and headed back to the office to return to the mortgage fraud cases.

Shaking his head, Macavity rubbed both hands over his temples, hoping that would calm down the headache he could already feel growing.

o-o-o-o

A knock came at the front door the next morning, Jerrie's collar turned up and his head ducked down to hide his face a shade more though his bright red hair was still visible and striking.

"Really, Jerrie?" Mistoffelees asked, glancing over underneath from his own fedora.

The door yanked open, Macavity staring them both down. "We're doing this quickly, yeah?"

"I thought you were going to be at work?" Mistoffelees said in some surprise and Macavity huffed, shaking his head but still not letting them inside the door.

"We're doing this as long as it needs to be done if you want to be sure your house is clear of bugs," Jerrie replied, hands shoved into his pockets.

Griddlebone came down the stairs, "Mac?  Is it them?"

Macavity grunted again and stepped back. "No funny business or business of anything except this, got it?"

"You're more paranoid than usual," Mistoffelees remarked.

"It's my _house_ ," Macavity said.

Jerrie stepped in, looking around and bowing to kiss the back of Griddlebone's hand, "It's a pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Street Suit.  I hear you've got an infestation."

That earned a grin from the woman, "It's good to meet you too, though I don't think I got your name?"

That earned her a grin, "Havisham. So you've been with the crazy one how long?"

"We've been married for ten years."

"Probably means you've got a mile long list of stories I'd love to hear."

Her eyebrows arched, "So you know Mac then?"

Jerrie shrugged, "I've seen him around.  Mutual acquaintance and all."

"Old and vague acquaintance," Macavity said and shook his head, feeling like the world had gone entirely wrong for Jerrie to be standing in his living room and looking at his dog. He'd been intensely careful to keep his past life away from his current life and he did not like them mixing.

Shaking his head again, he stomped into the kitchen to make coffee so his hands would stop shaking.

Jerrie looked up to watch him go as he pulled out a scanner from his case and started going over the room, "Oh, this is a nice vase.  Baccarat?"

Griddlebone moved over to lean against the end of the couch, "Yes, actually.  Why did you say yes about doing this?"

"Because I like Misto and he likes you," Jerrie answered simply.

"Do you want some coffee?" Griddlebone offered after a beat.

"Caffeine and I probably aren't a good plan."

"Which is why the coffee is for me," Macavity called from the kitchen.

"Do you have any wine or herbal tea?" Mistoffelees asked, looking away from the vase.

"Some wine, but probably not like you're used to.  There's some tea in the cupboard to the left of the sink over the coffee pot," Griddlbone answered.

Jerrie glanced over his shoulder at her as he located a bug in the dried hydrangeas on the bookshelf.  He broke it and tossed it into his case, planning to keep any he found for parts and payment, "Any chance I could have a glass of wine?"

"Like I said--"

"I like fine wines, but I can settle."

"It's not even eleven," Macavity protested, stepping up to the doorway. "I'm not opening a bottle of wine."

"Tea then," Jerrie settled with a sigh as he turned his attention to a bookcase, carefully moving the books and knick-knacks as he scanned it. He paused and reached down to scratch their dog's ears when the animal bumped against his leg, "Nice dog."

"I do like him.  He's sweet, loyal, and has a decent judge of people," Griddlebone replied with a smile, clapping once to call the dog over to her.

"Good judge of people," Jerrie smiled to himself with a glance at Mistoffelees.

Mistoffelees raised his eyebrows and crossed his arms over his chest. "So, how many bugs do you think are in here?"

"Could be dozens," Jerrie answered.  "I really couldn't say for sure.  But really, they could have put them anywhere."

"How long do you think?" Mistoffelees asked, listening to the clattering in the kitchen.

"Couple hours, maybe as many as six?"

Griddlebone blinked at that, shoving the dog out the backdoor as she spoke, "That long?"

"You've got two floors," Jerrie offered by way of explanation.

"Seriously?" Macavity demanded, coming around the corner. "Six hours of you in my house?"

"Would you rather us miss a bug then?" Mistoffelees asked, tone sweet and Macavity just shook his head before retreating again.

Jerrie proceeded slowly around the living room, tracking over every inch and finding another handful of bugs, "You've checked your phone lines for taps too, right?"

Griddlebone closed the door, leaning on it, and her eyebrows rose sharply, "Taps too?  You're serious?"

"They conned their way in and bugged your home, it's a possibility," Jerrie answered apologetically.

"I haven't had the chance to check for taps," Macavity said. "We slept in the yard last night."

"I'll check for those too.  It'll take a bit longer, but it'll be off the record for you.  No charge," Jerrie said, glancing at Macavity and then at Griddlbone, offering her a reassuring smile.  "I'd like to make sure you're all clean before I go."

Griddlebone pulled on a lock of her hair, and offered him a bit of a smile in return, "Thank you."

Mistoffelees blinked, shocked by that reaction before turning to Griddlebone. "How're you holding up over there?"

"My house is bugged and my phone may be tapped and I slept in my backyard last night," she answered, wrapping her arms around herself, "I want this done.  And I'll be good once it is.  Until then?  I don't feel safe in my own house."

Mistoffelees nodded. "Okay, I get that. Don't worry though, Jerrie is totally the best at what he does."

"You're sure?" She asked, glancing toward the red-head who was bent double over the back of her couch checking behind it.

Jerrie spoke, his voice muffled by the couch, "You don't know me, so I won't take that as an insult.  But Misto wouldn't have called me in for this if I wasn't."

"I really wouldn't have," Mistoffelees assured.

"He is good at what he does," Macavity said from the door, drinking his coffee before handing Jerrie a cup of herbal tea. "That does not mean I want him in my living room for long."

Jerrie came up from behind the couch, accepting the tea, "You didn't poison it, did you?"

That earned a weak laugh from Griddlebone, "He wouldn't dare."

Sipping at the tea without testing it, Jerrie grinned, "I'll take your word for it."  He turned his attention to the wall around the tv, scanner in one hand and his tea in the other.

"I didn't," Macavity protested. "I would have no reason to poison your tea. At the very least until you were done with the sweep."

"Her word I will take." Jerrie replied, "Because I'll remind you that you are not reassuring.  And you're hovering.  And you were supposed to be at work."

"I decided not to leave my wife alone with known criminals instead," he said, taking a sip from his coffee. "I really didn't like you being here without supervision."

"You don't trust me," Jerrie replied with a grin, finishing his tea and setting it down.

"Mac, I'm fine.  You really could have gone to work," Griddlebone said quietly.

"Of course I don't trust you and of course I was going to be here," Macavity said and Mistoffelees sighed.

"Mac," Griddlebone sighed. "I'm sure Misto can keep an eye on things here.  Are you using vacation time for this?"

"Sick day," Macavity said and Mistoffelees looked over at him. "I never get sick. Incidentally, I almost never take vacation time either, I have more than enough of it."

Jerrie looked up from the tv investigation, "Well, that hasn't changed.  How do you manage to be that devoted to your work and to your beautiful wife?"

"He manages.  I've got my own business, so we make it work."

He tapped his forehead, shaking his head, "Of course, you own that event planning business."

"You've heard of it?" Griddlebone blinked, surprised.

"If I wasn't trying so hard to stay under the radar I'd hire you.  I've heard you do good work," Jerrie's lips quirked into a smile at the delighted one that graced Griddlebone's features at that.

"Jerrie, I swear to god you better not be flirting with my wife," Macavity rumbled and Mistoffelees startled from where he had been leaning against the mantel piece.

"Hey, Griddlebone," he said. "How about we, uh, find something to do."

Griddlebone arched an eyebrow, but nodded, "I've got a couple of events that I could use your input on, actually, Misto."

Jerrie turned to face Macavity, his eyes widening slightly, "You think I've got some sort of death wish?"

"Not sure yet," Macavity said, voice still low and Mistoffelees nodded, quite happy with that idea and leaving the area.

Watching them go and resisting the urge to call them back, Jerrie swallowed and turned his attention back to Macavity, "She's a nice lady.  Not my type, but she's good for you from what I can see.  She's good people."

"She is good people," Macavity agreed. "Which is why I'm not so happy to have bad people in my living room. I've kept things pretty separate the last few years and I don't like the fact it's not anymore. So. You. I don't want you, I don't know, exchanging stories about my past."

"Yeah I got that when you answered the door."  He paused, frowning, "Wait, separate?  You mean to tell me you've told her _nothing_?"

"No, and I'd really like it to stay that way at the moment," Macavity said, tone getting defensive.

Jerrie let out a low whistle, "You're treading a thin line there.  Fine, nothing before you met her then."

"Good, so long as we're on the same page," Macavity said and shook his head, finishing the coffee in his hands.

"We are.  Are you going to hover the entire time I'm here?"  Jerrie asked him with a scowl.

"I'll try not to," Macavity said. "But I swear to god if anything goes wrong I come down on you like a ton of bricks."

"Heard and noted," Jerrie called over his shoulder as he made his way into the kitchen.

"Good," Macavity said and shook his head, deciding that the flower beds, no matter how few there were, needed his attention and care since he was home.

Griddlebone came back into the room, talking over her shoulder at Mistoffelees, "How are you doing with everything currently?"

"You know, as well as ever," he said, with a tightly controlled shrug that said anything but alright.

Jerrie looked up skeptically at that, his expression nearly matching Griddlebone's.  She paused but nodded, "If you say so..."  She looked around, "Where's Mac?"

"He went out in the back garden," Jerrie answered, continuing around the kitchen.

"He gardens?" Mistoffelees asked, eyes widening.

"He does a lot of stuff," Griddlebone replied with a fond smile.  "He does most of the cooking around the house too.  But the garden helps him relax some days--weather permitting."

"But... the flowers are so delicate like," Mistoffelees said, still trying to get past that image in his head. "Sorry, no, I have to see this for myself," he said, peering out the window and when that was not enough, he pushed the door open and poked his head out.

Jerrie grinned at that, but glanced at Griddlebone, "So how did you two meet?"

"It's a funny story actually," she answered with a smile.

"Well, I got time.  I've still got more rooms down here and the upstairs to do after all."

She shifted uncomfortably at that reminder, but she shrugged, "I was an assistant manager at a gallery that got scammed."

"Not exactly a romantic meeting," Jerrie replied.

"Well, he ended up using surveillance to find out if I had a boyfriend and kept dropping hints about Italian."

"Let me guess, he never actually asked you out?" Jerrie laughed.

"Well, not exactly.  I'd have to find you the pictures to really do this justice," Griddlebone responded with a smile.

Mistoffelees turned around, having satisfied his curiosity and having been yelled at by Macavity to leave him alone. "There's pictures?"

That earned a faint laugh, "Yeah, I'll go grab them, just give me a minute."  She turned and headed upstairs.

Jerrie glanced at Mistoffelees, "What do you think of them?"

"Them?" Mistoffelees asked. "You mean them as a married couple living together and stuff?"

"I mean that and them separately, and I don't know.  She seems like good people and Macavity's changed from when I used to know him."

"He's been settled a long time," Mistoffelees shrugged. "And she is very good. They're also good for each other, though I've not ever met Macavity before. But despite how defensive he gets, Griddlebone so far has been almost as kind as Jenny."

Jerrie nodded, "I got that feeling from her.  Something about how she looked at us--it's better than most not trusting exactly but, you know.  More like Jenny."

She's sweet, intelligent, knows art work," Mistoffelees shrugged. "Oh, and she likes sushi."

"Sounds like the perfect woman. I'm still curious how Macavity ended up with her."

Mistoffelees laughed, "Hopefully the pictures will shed some light on that."

Griddlebone appeared shortly, setting a photo box on the dining room table, "Here it is, guys."

Jerrie grinned, leaving the kitchen and slipping up next to her, "So how did you finally end up going out?"

She thumbed through the pictures, pulling out a particular one, "Like I said, he was using surveillance and hinting about Italian, so I gave him a clue."  She set the picture down, showing herself just over ten years before holding up a large poster board that read "I <3 Italian."  "It worked and he asked me out the next time we met."

Mistoffelees blinked at the picture and had to catch himself on the edge of the table he was laughing so hard. Jerrie tried to bite back a laugh, but gave up, laughing nearly as hard as Mistoffelees, "God, you're kidding!"

"I have photographic proof," she replied with a grin.

Mistoffelees looked up like he was going to say something and only managed to wave his hand a bit before bowing over in laughter again.

Jerrie wiped tears from the corners of his eyes, "I, I should get back into the kitchen."

Griddlebone smiled, nodding as she put the photo away again, "He's gotten a bit better since then, but there are days where I consider skywriting or neon signs for date memos still."

"I think skywriting should be fun," Mistoffelees managed as Macavity appeared in the back door.

"What is all the," he started and noticed the photos on the table. "Oh good god."

Jerrie who had got a hold of himself could be heard laughing again in the kitchen, "Match made in the FBI, terrifying thought."

"I'm good with that match though," Griddlebone called back, slipping an arm around Macavity and giving him a kiss on the cheek.

"I'm just saying now that I resent this," Macavity said but tilted his head slightly into the touch.

"Hey, it worked for you two," Jerrie called.  "You managed to get a date and a beautiful wife.  And you, Mrs. Street Suit, got a date and a handsome husband."

"If you put it that way," Mistoffelees offered and Macavity shook his head before turning and dropping a kiss on Griddlebone's mouth and then returned to his garden.

Griddlebone carefully returned all the photos to the box and stuck her head into the kitchen, "How much longer do you think you'll be?"

"I'm almost done down here, so between the last bit down here and still doing upstairs?  Maybe another couple hours?"  Jerrie offered.

"Alright, I'm going to run these upstairs.  Be back in a few minutes and we can maybe move onto a topic other than Mac then," she offered a bit of a smile as she picked up the photo box and took it upstairs.

"But Macavity is such a fun topic," Mistoffelees called after her.

"Except when I can't actually say anything about him," Jerrie replied, low enough so Griddlebone couldn't hear him.

Mistoffelees glanced over. "Huh?"

"Mac made it very clear that I'm not to mention anything about him prior to his meeting the lovely lady upstairs," Jerrie responded, leaning against the kitchen counter and frowning toward the back door.

Pausing, Mistoffelees opened his mouth to say something and seemed to think better of it. "Well that's... actually considering how twitchy he's acting today probably a good plan." But he frowned at the door, unsure what to think about the implication that Macavity might not have told his wife certain things about his past.

Jerrie crossed his arms, speaking in an undertone, "I've looked for his files, things I know should be there.  They're all sealed.  Completely.  I've half a mind to try and knock sense into him, but I'd rather not create trouble for her, y'know?"

"Yeah," Mistoffelees agreed. "Completely sealed though? It's odd to be that locked down. But it's their business, not ours."

"Yeah.  Sealed enough that if I wanted to get into them they'd have no trouble finding out I'd done so.  _Me_."  Jerrie said, turning back to his work as he heard Griddlebone coming down the stairs again.

Mistoffelees whistled, glancing over before whispering, "If it ever looks like trouble, we'll deal with it then." Turning around with a grin he watched Griddlebone enter the kitchen. "So, you wanted suggestions on your latest party I think you said?"

She glanced between them but nodded, "If you're willing to give them of course."

"Of course," he said, and within moments they were curled up on the couch with her laptop discussing flower arrangements versus the table cloths.

o-o-o-o

Sitting on a park bench, arms spread out along the back of it, Mistoffelees tilted his head back to feel the sunlight. "I love the park," he declared.

"So did Skimble," Jennyanydots remarked from where she was sitting next to him, watching her granddaughter play soccer.

"Probably for all the same reasons," Mistoffelees laughed, turning his own attention back to the game. "Has everything my last address lacked, like fresh air and lots of sunshine and just look at all this green stuff."

Jenny laughed and they both clapped when her granddaughter scored a goal. "She looks good," Mistoffelees remarked and all the joy rushed off Jenny's face at once.

"She looks good today," she said. "But they just took her off the donor's list for a new kidney."

Mistoffelees sat up abruptly, spine straight and looking at her in alarm. "What? Why?"

Shaking her head, Jenny clapped again as the children ran around but she turned heavy eyes on Mistoffelees. "I don't know. I don't know what happened or what we're going to do. But there's no reason she should have been taken off the list and in the long run... in the long run if she doesn't get a kidney..."

"Sh," Mistoffelees said, putting one of her hands over her's. "Your granddaughter needs a kidney? We'll find a kidney. It'll work out, okay?"

"You sound so sure," Jenny said with a faint laugh that might have been a hiccup.

"Damn straight I'm a sure person," Mistoffelees said and that got a firmer laugh from her.

"So was Skimble."

"One of these days you're just going to admit how much you like bad boys," Mistoffelees teased, mind already at work.

o-o-o-o

 

The next morning a knock came at Coricopat's door at breakfast time. Coricopat frowned at the door from where he'd been putting together a quick breakfast.  He moved over, tying his tie and reaching for his sidearm as he did so.  Opening the door the blinked at Mistoffelees for a moment, "Good morning.  What are you doing here?"

"It's in my radius," Mistoffelees said, breezing past him into the apartment and picking up the box of cereal that sat on the counter. "Hey, it says it comes with a free toy."

Closing the door and turning to follow him back to the kitchen, the agent arched an eyebrow, "Does it?  Is there a reason you're here at breakfast time?"

"What, you always get to crash my mornings and I can never return the favor?" Mistoffelees asked, arching his brow before opening the box and squinting down at it to see if he could find the flash of silver plastic.

"I always arrive at the same time, which means you got up earlier to come over here before I left," Coricopat reminded, picking up his bowl of cereal and starting to eat it before it got soggy.

"To return the favor of the morning crashing," Mistoffelees said, not taking his eyes off the cereal, still fishing. "You didn't already get it out did you?"

"Are you seriously digging through my cereal for a plastic sheriff badge?"

"Yes," Mistoffelees said, still not looking over. "Do you have a problem with that?"

"You could pour at least some of it into a bowl so you don't end up with it all over my counter," the other offered.  "Maybe eat some?"

"You offering my breakfast?" Mistoffelees asked, arching his brows up.

Coricopat shrugged, stirring his own cereal absently, "You're here, it's breakfast time, and I hate eating when there's someone present who isn't."

"Oh, when you put it that way," Mistoffelees said, pulling a bowl over and pouring some out, finally finding the plastic badge with a sound of triumph. "Anyway, I do have a favor to ask."

Managing not to reply with "Of course you do," Coricopat simply offered him the carton of milk, "And what is that?"

"Well, more of Jenny needs the favor and I'm asking," Mistoffelees said, sliding the milk closer to himself. "Her granddaughter needs a new kidney and she got taken off the list last week for no reason we can figure out. But two days ago a woman approached her, talking about some organization that could help find a kidney."

"Well, that's not exceptionally uncommon.  There are charities that help with that sort of thing," Coricopat responded, already mulling things over, his grey eyes slightly didn’t as he started running down other possibilities--especially considering the unexpected removal from the donor list.

"Sure, but that's a charity," Mistoffelees said, turning the plastic badge over in his hands. "They don't ask for a donation of a hundred thousand dollars."

"A hundred grand," Coricopat's tone went flat to bury anything he felt about that.  "Alright, I'll bite, get me as many specifics as Jenny has and we'll see what we can dig up."

"Will do," Mistoffelees agreed, munching through the cereal and considering his expression. "Something up?"

"Maybe, I need to check a few things at the office." He kept his voice a shade too neutral, his eyes darkening, "Be careful and don't do anything without clearing it.  I want to get these people and I want it done in a way that can't be overturned in court--got it?"

"Sure," Mistoffelees replied. "And actually that's starting to freak me out just a lot."

"Until I have more information I don't want to say anything conclusively.  Do you happen to know what organization it was that approached Jenny?"

"Hearts Wide Open," he said after chewing. "Which, by the way, sounds like a horror movie."

He set his cereal bowl in the sink and picked up his suit coat, "Well, what say we get to work and start digging?" Shoving the last of the cereal into his mouth, Mistoffelees nodded. Still chewing he clipped the plastic badge to his suit coat pocket.


	20. Might be Past Tense

They entered the office a short while later, Coricopat already barking orders to Macavity and Bombalurina before the doors even swung shut behind them. They'd stopped by the apartment to briefly talk to Jenny, Mistoffelees picking up a flyer for a tennis tournament for the organization.

Coricopat paused between Macavity and Bombalurina's desk, "Who wants the job of going down to the file room for me?"

“Her," Macaviy insisted quickly and Bombalurina arched a brow.

"I need anything in the last, get me the last five years, anything that looks like it's a scam fronting as a charity--primarily specifying in organ donors, but I'll take anything in that scenario."  His jaw tensed, "We meet in the conference room in an hour."

"Sounds good," Bombalurina said, rising and moving toward the files.

"Something in your bonnet?" Macavity asked, tilting his head back to consider his boss.

"Maybe," came the terse reply as Coricopat headed up the stairs to his office.

Looking around, Macavity rose and followed him. Shutting the glass door behind them, he arched his brow. "Okay. What's up?"

"Jenny's granddaughter was taken off the donor list.  And Jenny was approached by a charity saying they could get one, but asking for one hundred thousand dollars as a 'donation'," Coricoapt grit out, typing rapidly on his computer in a way that was probably not good for his keyboard.

"Yes, and that's very dastardly and black hat of them," Macavity agreed. "Why are you destroying your keyboard?"

"I don't think that's your concern," Coricopat replied.  "All that matters is that we get this bastard.  Or whoever it is."

"Cor,  you know how I get when I want to know things," Macavity said. "And Mistoffelees' worse. But have fun," and he went to help Bombalurina find the correct files.

Coricopat shook his head, getting copies of a few pages and database entries he found printed for the files, gathering them and heading to the conference room to start plotting things out around what they knew and what they didn't.  The number of things they didn't made him want to snarl but he kept his expression neutral.

w-w-w-w

"We're looking for a guy named Powell," Mistoffelees said, as he and Coricopat approached the mansion where the tennis party was being held. "He's a doctor who seems to be behind most of the organization."

"Then Powell it is.  And we're getting into this without invitations, how again?"

"Still working on that, it'll be fine," Mistoffelees said.

"We hope," Coricopat murmured as they entered the front door and were stopped by a man in the foyer.

"This in invitation only," the man said.

"I forgot mine at home," Mistoffelees said, flashing his smile. "But we're with--"

"Don't have the invite you can't get in," the man said firmly.

Coricopat brew a deep breath before backing up and pulling Mistoffelees with him, "That was the plan?  And here I was expecting a forged invitation."

Mistoffelees blinked. "Could I have done that?"

"Well, no.  That doesn't mean I didn't expect something along those lines," Coricopat admitted almost apologetically, his gaze sweeping around the foyer.  "Do we have a plan B?"

Spotting a slender woman stepping down the stairs, Mistoffelees grabbed Coricopat's arms and pointed. "She's the one that came to talk to Jenny." He started to make a bee line for her. "Excuse me," he said and she paused, looking down her nose at his blinding smile. "I seem to have forgotten my invitation--"

Looking even less impressed, the woman shook her head. "Then you should have remembered it. I can hardly help you, no matter who you are."

Coricopat sighed at that and crossed to Mistoffelees, catching his arm, "They're right, we should have remembered the invitations.  Let's go."

The woman who hadn't paid Mistoffelees' smile the least attention suddenly stopped, staring at Coricopat. "And who are you?" she asked, tilting her head.

The brunet paused at that before offering her a faint smile and his hand, "Dr. Larson.  Jacob Larson, Doctoral Global Initiative.  This is my colleague Leonard Parker, also with DGI."

"I'm Melissa Calloway," she said, smiling seductively at him and Mistoffelees' eyes narrowed. Holding her hand out to be shaken she considered Coricopat. "And what is your area of expertise then, doctor? What do you do for your living?"

"Chiropractics," he answered easily enough, shaking her hand and holding it for a moment longer than necessary before withdrawing.

She raised her brow before inclining her head. "It's admirable of you to use that knowledge to help the poor. We have a couple slots left open today, so long as you don't mind getting your hands dirty." As the two of them spoke, Mistoffelees' expression continued getting darker until he shook it off.

"I think that's something we both know how to do," Coricopat replied.  "Thank you, Miss Calloway."

"Of course," she said, breezing them past the guard and onto the lawn beyond.

"You do realize this means you have to flirt with her all day now," Mistoffelees said, leaning up to speak in Coricopat's ear.

"That had occurred to me," Coricopat sighed.  "It means you'll likely have to keep an eye out for Powell."

Mouth a thin line Mistoffelees nodded. "Try not to strain yourself," he snapped stepping away.

"Frustrated that I managed where you failed today?" Coricopat called after him, dryly.

Mistoffelees turned, taking a step back. "Only if I was inclined to keep a tally. But just think about all the people whose pants I could get into that you have no chance at. I think I can stand to lose one."

Coricopat frowned at that, but nodded, "Good luck."  He watched Mistoffelees for a long moment before turning and going to seek out Melissa.

Seething, Mistoffelees turned to where the bar was, hoping to find the doctor who seemed to run the organization there. Powell was there, leaning against the bar and watching as the other guests milled around the lawn.  His eyebrow arched when he saw his assistant Melissa approached by a thin brunet he didn't recognize.

Sliding up next to him at the bar, Mistoffelees made noise about getting scotch without even the rocks due to the sheer horror of the flight he'd just gotten off, even though he was more desirous to forget what felt far too much like jealousy in the pit of his stomach.

Powell ordered a refill on his cranberry juice before he glanced at Mistoffelees, "There’s a trick to those flights, you know.  Sleeping pills."

Mistoffelees tried not to twitch his shoulders at the horror he felt at that idea. "I don't know. Seems like I'm always way too wound up for something like that to work. In fact, I'm not sure I've ever managed it."

"The trick's taking them in the car on the way to the airport, rather than on the plane itself," Powell added with a bit of a shrug, sipping at his drink and watching as Melissa led the brunet into one of the tents that was set up around the lawn.  Interesting.

Mistoffelees was actively trying not to throw at fit at the way her hand was on his back as they walked. "That might be the right advice," he said, though it was muttered into his glass. Which was certainly not the way to charm himself into the man's good graces.

Powell eyed him for a moment, "I don't think I've seen you around."

"Oh, I'm mostly new here," he said, wiping his expression and putting a grin up instead as he held his hand out. "I'm Dr. Leonard Parker, I recently joined the Doctor Global Initiative."

"You're with DGI?"  Powell's eyes lit up and he shook the offered hand, "Dr. Wayne Powell.  I have to say, if you're with DGI I count you among my heroes.  It's one of the few charitable organizations still worth it."

Eyes widening and affecting shock as well as looking flattered Mistoffelees shook his head. "Dr. Powell? No, no, you're one of my heroes. You've done so much more than I could hope to."

"Oh I highly doubt that," but he was obviously preening.  "After all, I only do what I do in a more localized setting."

"Still, it's an inspiration," Mistoffelees said, inclining his head.

"Thank you," Powell responded.  "You know, I have a question for you.  I've got a friend who's, well, in need."  He motioned for another refill on the cranberry juice.

"Yeah? In need for what?" Mistoffelees asked, leaning back but clearly interested.

"Well, he's down to one kidney, and it's highly sensitized.  He needs a zero mismatch."

Mistoffelees whistled. "A zero mismatch? That's gotta be tough. So, you want me to keep an eye out?"

"Well, if you travel in India," he spoke in an undertone.  "There's a village near Manipur that has population genetics that seem promising."

"I go there quite a bit," Mistoffelees agreed. "Too bad the locals there couldn't sell your friend what he needed huh? Make it easier on both parties. But as I said, I'll gladly keep an eye out, especially the next time I go to India."

"Thank you.  My friend thanks you as well.  Give me a call next time you're there, he and I are rather generous with our charitable donations," Powell promised before picking up his glass and heading out to mingle.

"Sure," Mistoffelees said after him and felt his stomach curl in distaste again. "Donations indeed," he said into his cup and shook his head, scanning the crowd and deciding that since he'd achieved his objective he could sulk over by the bar rather than try and charm anyone else.

Coricopat emerged from the tent some time later, attempting to smooth his clothes and hair down and pocketing the number he had gotten with distaste.  That had been the most awkward thirty minutes he'd spent in a woman's company in a long time.  He'd been able to handle the French girls on the Haustenberg theft because they hadn't been so actively flirting with him.  This had involved far too much touching for her not being--he drove his thoughts quickly away from that and gave his hair up as a lost cause as he approached the bar, "Are you ready to go, Dr. Parker?"

For a long moment Mistoffelees didn't respond, just looking at his hair. "Get what you needed to?" he drawled.

"Less than," Coricopat grit out.  "Let's go.  Did you get anything useful?"

"Lots and lots," Mistoffelees said, tone still a drawl.

"You're being insufferable," Coricopat muttered before turning on his heel and heading for the mansion to leave.

"You sure we can leave?" Mistoffelees asked. "She might want your... what I'm sure she called your magic hands back. So, I'm curious, was that shirt she was wearing backless because it certainly looked like it."

"It was," he replied tersely, not admitting that the only reason he'd been able to give any semblance of reciprocity to her flirting was by pretending it was a different set of shoulder under his fingers.  "And she gave me her number so I would say we can leave."

"Wow," Mistoffelees said, rising in one fluid motion. "So you can actually flirt. Or she has no taste. The jury might still be out."

Coricopat paused long enough for Mistoffelees to catch up to him, "And were you at least productive, or did you spend the entire time nursing drinks at the bar and giving dark looks to all comers?"

"I was very charming," Mistoffelees said. "And yes, it was even productive. Besides, if I nursed more than one drink I wouldn't be able to walk in a straight line tomorrow due to the headache I'd have."

That earned a shrug as they exited the mansion and headed toward where the car was parked, "Are you going to relay what you found?"

"Powell is way into bribing people to get organs from poor countries like India, which is totally illegal. Also, downing enough cranberry juice to make me think the friend he says needs a zero mismatch kidney is in fact him. What you'd get beside a number?"

"An invitation to tour their facilities at a future date.  An escorted tour, but a tour nonetheless."

"Congrats," Mistoffelees said in the same acidic tone.

Coricopat offered him a frown and yanked his door open with more force than necessary, "What's gotten into you today?"

"Into me?" Mistoffelees asked, tilting his head over and realized that was more ridiculous than his usual bluffs.

"Yes. Into you," he settled into the car, slamming the door and waiting for Mistoffelees to get inside before starting it.

Hesitating for a moment outside, Mistoffelees slid inside. "I'm sorry," he said instead of touching on why he was so irritable.

Coricopat's hands tensed on the wheel but he drew a calming breath, "And if I had that you were saying that for more reason than to placate me and get me to leave off I'd buy that more."

"So the placating thing didn't work huh?" he asked, looking studiously in front.

"No, not really."  He pulled away from the curb and turned the car toward the FBI offices, "Are you going to answer my question or are we leaving it there with you simmering and snarling?"

"I'd really rather be left simmering and snarling frankly," Mistoffelees said.

"You wake up on the wrong side of the bed this morning?" Coricopat asked, making a right turn.

"It's hard to have a wrong side of the bed to wake up when it's empty," Mistoffelees snapped and froze, that being more accurate than he had wanted it to be. Eyes sliding over to the window he watched the city roll by. "I just didn't sleep well."

The agent blinked at that, not saying the first things to come to his mind, and he glanced at his CI, "Should I take you home and let you catch up on that then?  Or are you able to work civilly?"

"I can work civilly," he said softly, hating to have admitted such a stupid weakness.

"Thank you," Coricopat replied after a moment.  "I need you on this case, Mistoffelees."

Slowly Mistoffelees looked back over at him. "I am on this case."

"And we're not going to have trouble on it?" He kept his gaze focused on the road, not trusting himself to spare so much as a glance for the other.

"No," Mistoffelees said and let out a long breath. "I'll figure it out, okay? It'll be fine."

Coricopat paused for a moment and nodded, parking and getting out of the car to head up to the office, "Thank you."

"I've not done much," Mistoffelees said to himself before getting out as well, trailing after Coricopat.

o-o-o-o

Mistoffelees pushed into the apartment, pulling his tie off in an abrupt, angry motion and throwing it over the back of the chair before he registered that anyone else was in his apartment. Jerrie looked up from a collection of Ginsberg's poetry, setting both the book and his wine glass aside when he saw Mistoffelees, "You're in more of a mood than you have been in a while."

"Are you drinking my wine again?" Mistoffelees snapped in reply.

"One glass, and I'll go buy you a new bottle," Jerrie replied with a frown.  "What the hell?"

"What what the hell?" Mistoffelees asked and braced himself on the back of the chair, as if hoping the tension of that movement would help.

"Well, let's start with what's wrong," Jerrie crossed his arms over his chest, leaning back on his heels.

For a long moment Mistoffelees paused, remembering Jerrie's comment earlier about the worst thing being falling in love with the man who sent him the prison. "I don't like having a child's future on the line here, and also, Coricopat seems to be ready to shoot someone over the issue. And..." he hesitated again.

"I can do some digging about why the suit's acting like this if you like," the redhead offered.  "What else?"

"I'm just trying to figure out if you figured this out before me," Mistoffelees muttered. "He flirted with someone and I wanted to take both their heads off."

Jerrie swore softly, "You've fallen for him?  Or are falling for him?"

"I'm jealous of him," Mistoffelees said. "It's not... it's not falling for him."

"Okay," the other man managed to keep the skepticism out of his voice.  "Why are you jealous of him?"

"Huh?" Mistoffelees started and shook his head. "What do you mean why? I don't like him flirting with other people there's not much of a why for why that makes me so damned angry."

"So you're not falling for him but you're attracted to him?  I'm just trying to figure out where this leaves you standing."

"Attracted," Mistoffelees repeated, as if the idea of such a thing was a slap to his face. "I... I suppose so. Look, it doesn't matter, I'll deal with whatever needs to be dealt with. Have you managed to look into that clinic yet?"

"Yeah, and I've got some bad news.  They’re spooked, they've been tossing files for the last few hours," Jerrie replied, shaking his head.

"What?" Mistoffelees frowned. "But if they're tossing files... damn it, did the feds ask for something?"

Jerrie offered a half shrug, shoving a hand through his red hair, "I don't know and I can't get close enough to find out because they've got more security than I think I've seen on a clinic before."

"Damnit that means something must be going down there," Mistoffelees said and took a deep breath before picking up his cell phone and finding Coircopat's number.

Coricopat picked up on the second ring, "Hello?"

"Did you do something to spook the clinic?" Mistoffelees asked instead of greeting him.

"There was a request for their financial records," Coricopat answered.  "Why?"

"Damnit," Mistoffelees said and clicked the phone shut. "We need to get in there," he told Jerrie. "The feds asked for their finances and if they're spooked we gotta figure out what they have they want so badly to get rid of."

"Son of a bitch.  You have some sort of plan?"  Jerrie bit back any comments he wanted to make about how brilliant he found the FBI's tactics.

"We get in there," Mistoffelees said, already moving to his closet to see what might best scream doctor.

"A valid plan, we're doing that how?"  Jerrie followed him, running his hands through his hair again.

"How do you feel about being crazy?" Mistoffelees asked.

"I can do crazy.  As long as there are no needles involved I have no problem doing crazy."

"Let's do crazy then," Mistoffelees said with a smirk.

Mistoffelees phone rang, Coricopat calling him back.  Jerrie's brow arched, "That looks like it might be a stop to the crazy..."

Mistoffelees checked it and shut it off, leaving the phone on the table. "Come on."

"Oh that's going to go well," Jerrie muttered, following Mistoffelees out the door.

o-o-o-o

A short while later Mistoffelees pushed Jerrie in a wheelchair into the clinic, wearing a pair of glasses and a labcoat. "I promise to never go up a tall building again, don't let me die," Jerrie rattled off in a relatively weak voice, though his gaze darted around, never focusing anywhere for more than a few seconds, but earning a glanced from the receptionist.

Approaching the receptionist, Mistoffelees charmed and wheedled about how he had to drop this patient off, and how connected they were and how he would just go up to Westlake's office himself. Despite her protests they got past and up the stairs, though she picked up the phone to call Dr. Westlake as soon as they were past.

Jerrie shuddered as they made their way up to the second floor, "I hate hospitals.  Have I mentioned how much I hate hospitals."  He looked up and down the hall, "Alright, you go left I'll go right and we'll see what's found?"

"Powell's office is the best idea," Mistoffelees said, looking around. "Sure we want to split up?"

"Pretty sure the suit would kill me if we did, but Powell's assistant may have some things too and we'll work faster if we're in both offices at the same time rather than one then the other," Jerrie replied, shifting nervously and glancing back over his shoulder.

"Alright, come on," Mistoffelees said, stepping into Powell's office and digging through the files. "God, this is a lot of stuff to just be getting rid of," he murmured, startling at a sound before flipping through more papers. Finding a list of all the donors in the city he paused in surprise, looking it over and cursing. The proof of illegal organ trading in his hands, he rushed over to the fax machine, trying to think of an alias that would make Coricopat notice, finally settling on the tried and true Nick Holden before running it through the machine just as the security guards noticed someone else in the office.

Jerrie turned the other way and spotting a janitor's uniform, pulling it on and making his way through the halls unaccosted until he found a bin of shredded paper which he hefted under his arm and turned to head back toward Powell's office but froze when he saw security on their way up the stairs.

With barely a glance toward the apparent janitor, two security guards turned down the other hall and entered Powell's office, "Hey, stop that fax!  Back away from that machine, now."

Stopping, Mistoffelees stepped back, holding his hands up. "Hey, hey, everyone calm down, I just needed to borrow Dr. Powell's fax machine it's nothing really, what's all this fuss?"

The second guard stepped forward and hit the cancel button on the fax machine as the first caught Mistoffelees by the arm, "You have Powell's permission to use that machine?"

"Yeah, sure," Mistoffelees said with a grin.

"Call him," came the order, the other guard already picking up the phone to do so.

"Come on now, there's no need for that," Mistoffelees started as on the other side of the line Powell's voice said that the man was probably an escaped psychiatric patient and to keep him there until he got there.

The guard hung up the phone and looked at his partner, "Says he's probably down from floor three.  I'll go get one of the nurses to calm him down and wait for Powell."

Nodding, the other man dragged Mistoffelees out of the office, "Come on, let's wait for the good doctor and we'll all have a nice little chat about the fax machine."

"Is this really necessity?" Mistoffelees asked. "I thought this place was a hospital not a military base."

His protests went ignored as he was pulled into another room and strapped to a gurney to "keep him from injuring anyone."  The nurse came in and prepped a sedative, not asking any questions after being told that he was one of Westlake's patients from the third floor.

"Oh jesus christ," Mistoffelees said, trying to move back from the needle. The security team held him still while the sedative was administered before all three departed, closing the door behind them.

o-o-o-o

Coricopat startled as his fax machine started.  The fax barely got the first three lines through before it was cancelled on the other end, but it was enough for him to see the alias.  He swore, pulling on his coat and picking up his phone to call for Mistoffelees' tracking data even as he headed for the other's apartment.  He changed directions and pulled out Melissa's number when the tracking data placed his CI at the clinic.

"This is Melissa Calloway," she greeted. "May I ask who's calling?"

"Melissa, it's Jacob Larson from the tennis club.  How are you today?"  Coricopat bit back a curse as he hit traffic and was forced to turn down side streets and back routes to continue toward the clinic.

"Oh," she said, almost a purr. "It's good to hear from you. I'm heading into Dr. Powell's office."

"That, actually that's great.  You remember saying I could swing by any time?  I'm in the neighborhood today and was wondering if it was a possibility?"

She hesitated for a long time. "I don't know, today's not looking so good."

He drew a deep breath, trying to remember how best to flirt and get what he needed in this situation, "Not even for a little while?  I need to see you, I've had difficulty concentrating because I can't stop thinking about you."

Again there was a pause. "Really?" she asked, voice dropping again. "And what are you thinking about?"

"What it was like to hold an intelligent conversation with an exquisite beauty such as yourself.  And how many other things we could have gotten up to if we'd had more time," he replied, smoothly, hitting his steering wheel as he stopped for a red light.  "I've never met someone like you."

"That... that's flattering," she stammered. "But I--"

Coricopat focused on things he'd prefer to be saying to a certain conman and the emotions related to those which he needed to somehow infuse into this conversation as he cut her off, "Please, Melissa?  You're a lovely woman and I'd like the opportunity to meet up with you again."

"If you're really interested," she said, "You can come by later and I can get you a pass. We can grab a drink then, alright?"

He couldn't stop from smiling at that, which transferred through his voice, even if it was for a different reason than she might think, "That sounds perfect.  I'll see you then."

"Great," she said, ending the call.

Coricopat breathed a soft sigh that felt a hair too much like relief as he turned his full attention to the road.  It took him another fifteen minutes to get to the clinic, find parking, and get inside and he paused at the receptionist's desk, glancing around and trying to figure out where the hell Mistoffelees would have gotten to.  His spotted a list of office numbers behind the desk and registered that Powell's office was on the second floor--that would be the place to start.

"Excuse me, you can't just come in," the receptionist was saying as Melissa appeared at the top of the stairs, talking to one of the security men.

"I'm aware of that, I was looking for," he broke off, "Ah, there she is."  He bit down on any concern at the sight of security, "Melissa!"

She startled, looking over. "What? It's early, you said you were coming by later."

"I got a call as soon as I got off the phone with you--I have to fly out this evening but I didn't want to miss seeing you before I went," the agent briefly considered that he should be concerned with how easily he was finding some of the lies he was telling as he crossed to the stairs.

"Well, I mean," she started, looking flustered at that.

He climbed the stairs until he was a couple of steps down from her, "I won't take too much of your time, I promise."

"It's just, we have," she started to say and paused when her phone went off, the security officer having already left.

Coricopat glanced toward her phone, hoping it would distract her enough.  Powell's voice came on the line, "It's Powell.  Don't talk to anyone, I'm ten minutes out."

Turning away she held a hand over the phone. "Ten minutes? What is going on?"

"I'll explain when I get there," Powell responded tersely as Coricopat took advantage of her diverted attention and slipped past her into the second floor hall to seek out Mistoffelees.

After a few more lines she hung up and turned in confusion at not finding the doctor there.

Coricopat slipped through the halls, calling softly for Mistoffelees and finally hearing the other's voice.  He pushed open the right door and stared aghast at the black-haired man, "Good God, Mistoffelees, what have you gotten yourself into?"

"I was hoping the cut off phone call and tracking would work," Mistoffelees said with a goofy grin as his head flopped. "And the singing of course."

"You're lucky I got here now.  Powell's ten minutes out.  Come on, let's get you lose," he reached for the straps holding Mistoffelees down.  "What did they give you?"

"I don't know," he said, hand flopping when Coricopat freed it. "Have I said I hate needles yet? Because I really hate needles. And my head feels fuzzy now."

"Hatred of needles is noted," the agent muttered, getting the last strap removed before hoisting Mistoffelees off of the gurney and all but carrying him from the room, dragging him down the hall and through a conference room, "Why would you do something like this?"

"Kids are in danger," Mistoffelees said, trying to get his feet underneath him and stumbling against Coricopat even more instead. "God you're strong, did you know that? You're pretty strong."

"That's not something anyone's told me before," Coricopat responded.  "Do you have any idea what this is going to do to you?  You broke in here.  They can put you away again.  Goddamn it, Mistoffelees."

"Can they?" Mistoffelees said. "I didn't break anything. I just slipped. I slipped in and they did fuck all to stop me until they tied my down and... and... you're strong because you can carry me. Be nice."

"They have more security than I've seen on your average bank," Coricopat's voice laced with worry.

"They tied me down and put needles in me," Mistoffelees repeated.

Coricopat shifted his grip on Mistoffelees to better support him, "And what was the official story they gave when they did that?"

"Escaped," Mistoffelees started and tried again. "Escaped mental patient. I'm not crazy."

"Not committablely," the brunet replied.  "But they can use that defense.  They thought you were an escaped patient and responded according to protocol."

"Fuck them," Mistoffelees mumbled, stumbling again and almost dragging Coricopat down with him. "They got it on tape I think--lots of cameras."

Coricopat barely caught them, "If--damn it, Mistoffelees."  He glanced around and didn't see any cameras, it didn't mean they weren't there, but it was at least a little bit promising.  He lowered the other to the ground, "Stay here.  Right.  Here."

"Why right here?" Mistoffelees asked, tilting his head back and blinking blearily at him, though his pupils were blown wide from the medication.

"So I can find you again," came the answer as Coricopat got to his feet.  "I'm trusting you not to try leaving, got it?  You're out of sight of the most likely security camera locations for this room."

"What're you going to do?" Mistoffelees asked, trying to focus.

"Just, just stay here," Coricopat repeated before turning and leaving the conference room. Mistoffelees opened his mouth but didn't call after him, curling around his knees instead and trying to listen for anyone coming.

Several minutes later Coricopat returned, slipping a small tape into his suit coat pocket as he knelt down to hoist Mistoffelees to his feet, "Come on, time to go."

"You got the tape?" Mistoffelees asked, leaning his head back. "Why'd you get the tape?"

"Because I'm not risking you going back for trying to get information on this case," Coricopat answered as they finally managed to get out of the clinic with him still supporting Mistoffelees and trying to haul the smaller man down the block to his car.

"Cor," Mistoffelees drawled, head rolling against Coricopat’s shoulder. "Cor you're the only one I trust."

He almost tripped at that, looking at Mistoffelees with wide eyes, "What?"

"You're the... the only one I trust. Pounce, Jerrie, I don't, I never really have."

Opening the passenger door and helping Mistoffelees in, Coricopat tried to form a coherent response to that, but couldn't find one, "I...Mistoffelees."  He drew a deep breath and brushed the other's black hair away from his face, "God, you confuse me."

"I confuse you," Mistoffelees repeated, sounding offended. For a moment he seemed to hesitate before reaching up even from the seat to drag Coricopat closer and fumbling to barely get their mouths together.

Coricopat started to lean into the clumsy kiss before processing what was going on and tensing.  He pulled back, shaking his head, "Not like this."

"Not like what?" he asked in confusion.

"You're drugged.  I'm not kissing you right now, not while you're in this state," the other answered, closing the passenger door and circling the car to get behind the wheel.

"That's not what it's about though," Mistoffelees protested. "Where are we going?"

"Whether it's what it's about or not is kind of beside the point," Coricopat replied.  "I was heading back to one of our apartments."

"One of?" Mistoffelees slurred, trying to focus on anything and not managing it.

"Yours," he corrected after a moment, turning the car in that direction.  "Stay with me, Mistoffelees."

"I'm here," he protested. "I'm not getting out of a moving car."

"Your focus, then," Coricopat responded.  "Did you find anything, or did they manage to drug you too soon?"

"There's a... there's a list. I faxed..."

“We'll run down the names that came through in that fax, then. It got cut off."

"Yeah they were pissed," he said, the last word trailing.

That earned him a wry smile, though there was a hint of worry in Coricopat's grey eyes, "I never would have guessed that.  Any idea how much sedative they gave you?"

"Not good with medicine," Mistoffelees replied. "You can't con it. No clue."

The agent nodded, pulling to a stop in front of Jenny's house, "Here we are.  Let's get you upstairs."

"Stairs," Mistoffelees said and giggled. "Okay, I can do stairs."

Getting out of the car and rounding it to open Mistoffelees' door, Coricopat offered him a faint twitch of his lips as he helped him out of the vehicle, "Come on, graceful one, let's see you do the stairs."

"You could carry me up them," Mistoffelees said into his chest, falling against him when he stood.

"I could try," Coricopat conceded, pausing for a moment to shift Mistoffelees in his arms before sweeping him up--surprised at how little the other actually did weigh, "You're going to have to manage the doors, though."

Yelping when his feet left the ground, Mistoffelees gave him a shocked look for a moment before nodding. "Doors. Okay."

They managed to make it into the house and up the stairs to Mistoffelees' apartment without incident, though Coricopat wasn't entirely certain how.  Once inside, he set Mistoffelees down on the couch and went to get him a glass of water. Woozily, Mistoffelees stood up and stumbled over to the bed instead, collapsing where it was more comfortable. Curious, Oscar meowed at Coricopat before patting across Mistoffelees' back and sitting in front of his nose, meowing again.

Coricopat turned and paused when he saw Mistoffelees had moved to the bed.  He hesitated a brief moment longer before crossing to the side of the bed and set the glass on the small table next to the head of the bed before running a hand over Mistoffelees' hair, "Don't go to sleep on me, Mistoffelees."

"Don't go to sleep?" he repeated. "Why not? My head hurts."

"Because I don't know how much sedative you've got in your system," Coricopat replied.  "Turn over, I've got some water here for you."

With a groan Mistoffelees complied, pushing some pillows back against the headboard and leaning against them. "Alright, fine. No sleep."

The brunet offered him the glass of water from where he was standing by the bed, "Thank you." Accepting the glass, Mistoffelees took a hesitant sip.

"Is there, is there anything I can get you?"  Coricopat asked, eying Oscar warily from where the half-grown cat was curled up.

Watching him, Oscar stretched one of his legs out over Mistoffelees' thigh, spreading his claws out toward Coricopat before relaxing and draping his upper half across Mistoffelees' leg. Coricopat blinked at that behavior, "I do believe your cat just threatened me."

“He was stretching," Mistoffelees slurred.

"I don't believe you.  That was a stretch with the intent to intimidate and show possession."

"You make that sound like you'd want to take that possession away," Mistoffelees said, managing to pet Oscar's ruff.

"Well, I," Coricopate flustered for a long moment.  "I'm pretty sure that he'd take my arm off if I did."

"That's not answering the question," Mistoffelees said, taking another sip of water and looking up at him.

"I wouldn’t' want to take it away from him.  And possessing you is hardly how I'd put it."

Mistoffelees' eyes narrowed, not sure how he felt being referred to as an it. "And what way would you put it?"

"Possessing implies control that I wouldn't want.  It takes away what agency you have," Coricopat replied, rocking back on his heels slightly.

"I have agency?" Mistoffelees asked. "You already control my life, watch my movements when it suits your purposes. Besides, the cat's possession does not take away my agency either. That's not what it's really about."

"That was not what...you know what, forget I said anything. I don't want to _possess_ you, Mistoffelees."

"Possession isn't about control," Mistoffelees said and waved a hand, eyes still spacey. "That's what control is for. It's about having and protecting and caring for. It's about," he started to continue and stumbled over saying it could be about trust.

"We have different definitions of possession," Coricopat replied, finding himself closer to the same page again.  "But, if that's how we're defining possession, then, well, I suppose my answer to the initial accusation is yes."

"What?" Mistoffelees asked, for despite pressing he hadn't expected that.

"Protecting and caring for you?  I've done a hell of a job of it, but yes, that's what I want.  I...do you think I went back for this security tape for my own health?" Coricopat withdrew the tape, setting it on the bed next to Mistoffelees.

For a long moment Mistoffelees just looked at the tape. "How do you define possession?" he asked, voice small.

"Possession and control are synonymous.  It implies that there's no chance of the other person having any say in the relationship, that they're nothing more than property to you.  Possession is something that only works one way.  _A_ possession can't possess the person who possesses it." Coricopat paused, frowning very slightly. “If that makes sense.”

"That definition only really works if it's an inanimate object being possessed," Mistoffelees said and added, "I'm on drugs, everything makes sense to me."

"It's still the way I associate the term," Coricopat reminded. "The drugs should wear off eventually and you'll be back to skepticism toward most of what I say again."

Mistoffelees laughed. "Then you should probably take advantage of it."

Offering him a wry smile at that, Coricopat shrugged slightly, "Maybe I should.  I do care about you, Mistoffelees.  I care about what happens to you, and what matters to you as well.  And I wish I could do better for you than a two mile radius and a prison sentence hanging over your head."

Oscar yawned and turned over as Mistoffelees gaped at him. He tried making a few incoherent sounds that didn't quite formulate into sentences before shaking his head. "But..."

Coricopat waited to see if he would continue before prompting, "But?"

"You're the one who put me here," he said faintly. "And god knows the sort of danger I get put in and the disapproval you have for _everything_ I do and..."

"Not everything," came the quiet reply. "Your actions worry me because I don't want to see this get worse and every time you do something that even toes the line into a grey area all I can see is the worst case scenario of you ending up back behind bars."

"Wasn't a problem four years ago," Mistoffelees said and Oscar made a quiet sound when Mistoffelees' hand went to his ruff again as if trying to hold onto something.

"I didn't know you four years ago.  And the four year sentence was for something you were convicted of.  Doubling that sentence because you broke out and then let me catch you again is unreasonable and frankly not something you deserved," Coricopat stated, finally sitting down on the floor next to the bed, leaning his back against the bed.

"The drugs must be wearing off," Mistoffelees mumbled. "Because suddenly I really want to be drinking for this conversation."

"Not until they're out of your system.  I do not want to know what alcohol would do if it interacted with those drugs," Coricopat responded without really thinking about it.

"Yeah I don't either," Mistoffelees said. "Doesn't change the urge."

"It's probably not good if your answer to conversations like this is alcohol."

"Isn't it?" Mistoffelees asked, dropping his head back against the headboard and cradling the glass of water against his chest. "You're telling me crazy things."

Coricopat turned his head enough to look at Mistoffelees, "I've said that I disagree with your second sentence before."

“You disagree but have no qualms about using me to the best of your ability,” Mistoffelees said, looking down at his lap and not at all daring to look toward Coricopat.

"You're the one who suggested this arrangement," Coricopat reminded.

"I know," Mistoffelees said faintly. "I know that but I hate it."

The agent drew a deep breath, focusing on the wall opposite, "We need to apply for parole for you, then."

Mistoffelees jerked up in shock, groaning when it hurt his head. "What?"

"You told me that you never had the shot at parole.  You've done well so far this year, we'll start putting that in motion.  It, I warn you it could take a while.  You and I both know there's someone higher-up blocking every move to keep you where you're at or in a better situation."

"I never understood why someone would want that," Mistoffelees said and leaned back down. "You'd support that though?"

"Like I said, you've done good work, and from talking to the guards at the prison you were a model prisoner.  You should have been out on good behavior ages ago," Coricopat replied, tapping his fingers on his knee.

Mistoffelees laughed, the sound not amused. "Two years right? Half your sentence, you go up on parole. I don't... I suppose it doesn't matter anymore."

"So we try to get this one halved, at the very least," Coricopat replied.  "It...it might not work until next year, but we can start the ball rolling.  I can put in good words with Vlask, see if the team would support it as well."

"And you'd do that for me," Mistoffelees said softly, Oscar rolling over to his back and the motion drawing his eyes.

"I would."

"Thank you," Mistoffelees managed, voice rough.

"Of course, Mistoffelees," Coricopat replied quietly.

Mistoffelees sighed, running a hand down Oscar's stomach. "And it's not even the drugs that make me say I don't understand you."

"It's not as though you're all that easy to understand either."

"Me? I'm straight as a..." he paused. "As straightforward as a really straight thing. Like a chair leg. You're just not looking close enough."

"You went from accusing me of being the person jerking you around by holding Pouncival hostage somewhere to telling me you trusted me."  Coricopat tilted his head to glance at Mistoffelees again, "There's a logic break in there somewhere."

"Because you weren't the former," Mistoffelees said. "I always wanted to trust you. It's why it pissed me off so much when I thought I couldn't."

Coricopat considered that for a long moment before finally nodding, "Why me?"

"Huh?" Mistoffelees asked, staring intently at the ceiling. "Why you what?"

"Why trust me?  As has been pointed out time and time again, I'm sure, I'm the one who got you into this whole mess in the first place."

"I dunno," Mistoffelees managed finally. "I just do."

Coricopat nodded very slightly after another minute, "Why do I confuse you?"

"That," Mistoffelees huffed out a breath. "That's classified."

"Seriously?  You've classified your thoughts on me?"  he sounded vaguely amused.

"Yup," Mistoffelees declared entirely happy with the idea. Just so long as he never actually had to answer the question.

"Why did you kiss me earlier, or is that classified as well?"

Mistoffelees froze. "Oh, I did... do that didn't I?"

"You did," Coricopat murmured.

"There wasn't a whole lot of reasoning behind that," Mistoffelees said, shifting around. "Except that I'm lonely. It's nothing."

Coricopat's expression and tone fell into a neutral state at that, "I thought as much."

Mistoffelees sighed and pushed himself up, moving to sit on the edge of the bed. "What did you want me to say?"

The agent tilted his head back just enough to look up at Mistoffelees, "I don't know."

Tilting his head, Mistoffelees frowned. "It certainly wasn't what I did say."

"Attempting to kiss me and then telling me that you're lonely, which I believe, and that it's nothing, which I don't, isn't exactly providing a satisfying answer, no."

"But you don't know what you want me to say," Mistoffelees said, exhaustion evident in his face. "I could have added that I just miss Pounce too but I didn't expect that to be believed either."

"Fine, for the sake of honesty, I wanted you to say it was because you wanted to kiss me," Coricopat grit out before pushing himself to his feet.  "I should go."

"And if I did want to kiss you?" Mistoffelees asked very faintly. "I'm your CI. My lover's missing. And you yourself said you didn't want to while I was drugged."

"I didn't _want_ to?"  Coricopat turned and gaped at him, "I'd say the first two are large enough hurdles in and of themselves, but no.  I was not going to kiss you while you were drugged."

"Not so much of the drugged now," Mistoffelees said, not quite daring to offer anything.

"This is probably a very bad idea."

"Then don't do it," Mistoffelees said, not moving either way.

Coricopat paused for the briefest of moments before leaning down and kissing Mistoffelees hesitantly. For a moment Mistoffelees didn't move before he tilted his head back, sliding his arms around Coricopat's neck. One arm moving to wrap around Mistoffelees' waist, Coricopat pressed into the kiss, making a soft sound in the back of his throat.

Hesitating for another moment, Mistoffelees rose from the bed without breaking the kiss so that he could lean against the taller and let his mouth fall open. He shifted his entire body into a roll against Coricopat. There was a hint of a pause before Coricopat's lips parted as he pulled Mistoffelees almost flush against himself.

Making a surprised noise, Mistoffelees tilted his head back further and leaning up on his toes. Coricopat leaned further down into the kiss, barely registering when the door opened, though he startled back when Jerrie started talking, "Hey, M, I've got--Holy hell!"

Dropping and moving back swiftly, Mistoffelees' head snapped to the door. "Do you knock?"

"Usually there isn't a reason," he gaped at them. "What the hell, Misto?"

"What do you mean?" Mistoffelees asked, smoothing down his vest before shifting to his hair compulsively.

Coricopat was straightening his tie.  He opened his mouth to say something, but Jerrie cut him off, "Worst case scenario is what I mean."

"It's not that," Mistoffelees protested. "And knocking is still considered polite you know." He felt almost breathless and didn’t dare look over at Coricopat.

"Well, whatever this is, I've got a bin full of shredding here that we need to piece together,” Jerrie said, eyes narrowed.

"I don't want to know, do I?"  Coricopat asked, taking another step away from Mistoffelees.

"About the shredding?" Mistoffelees asked.

"How you got it," he corrected.

"Nothing illegal.  Technically.  It was thrown out,” Jerrie said, not quite smirking to answer the question the suit had specifically said he didn’t want to hear an answer to.

"Oh yeah," Mistoffelees nodded, still running a hand over his hair. "It's just outside."

Coricopat looked between them, drawing a breath, "Alright, I'm going to go run those names that actually came through on your fax and see what I can find."

"I think I can remember a couple more that didn't get through," Mistoffelees managed faintly.

"Send them to me if you do," the agent replied, softly.

Mistoffelees blinked for a moment and then nodded, a little too quickly. "Yeah, okay. Will do."

"Rest up, I need you at full strength," Coricopat murmured and headed for the door.

"Yeah, resting," Mistoffelees agreed.

"Take care of him," the agent looked to Jerrie before leaving.

Jerrie blinked after him before turning around to look at Mistoffelees, "What was that?"

"What was what?" Mistoffelees asked, sitting back down on the bed and waking Oscar up. "I got drugged, you should take care of me."

"That's the excuse you're going with?  You were drugged so you ended up necking with the suit?"

For a moment Mistoffelees didn’t move, seeming to consider that while he tried not to panic. "Yeah, that sounds good," he said with a nod.

Jerrie offered him a long look, "Which would require me to believe that the suit would kiss you when you were drugged enough to question your judgment."

Mistoffelees paused. "Alright, well, my judgment wasn't entirely impaired but it counts enough, alright?"

"You were kissing him, pretty thoroughly, when I came in," Jerrie replied as he grabbed the shredding.

"It was just a kiss," Mistoffelees said, ducking his head down.

"What sparked it?" he dumped out the shredding and started trying to piece it together.

Shaking his head slightly, Mistoffelees sat down beside him and started pulling some of it together. "I don't... something I said when I was drugged I think. We just started talking. He started it."

"So he's falling for you, then?"

"It might be past tense," Mistoffelees said without looking up. Shifting some of the papers around, he frowned.

"Hell."  Jerrie rustled through some more of the papers, glancing at Mistoffelees out of the corner of his eye, "Finding anything?"

"Not yet," Mistoffelees ground out.

"You want me to get you anything?  What with you still being drugged and all that."

"I'm fine," Mistoffelees said, ducking his head further down, black wavy hair falling into his eyes.

Jerrie managed not to show how skeptical he was about that, "Let me know if you need anything at all, M."

"A new life would always be appreciated," Mistoffelees muttered, turning around another piece of paper and putting it with another piece, satisfied when they matched.

"I could do that.  I can have papers made for you in no time, you really want that."  Jerrie paused, "Means you can’t come back to the states though."

Mistoffelees startled and looked up. "That wouldn't help the really big issues though, would it? Like where Pounce is or anything like that."

"No," the redhead shook his head.  "I could have papers standing by for both of you if, I mean when you find him."

"Which still means I'd have to find him," Mistoffelees said faintly. "And that he'd want to go."

"Offer's on the table.  I'll get them started for when you do and if he does," Jerrie said, still sorting and arranging the papers.

"Thanks," Mistoffelees said without looking up again, though his shoulders were hunched over.


	21. You Should Really Fight For What You Want

The next day, Mistoffelees entered the conference room and sat down heavily, Macavity glancing over at him in surprise.

"Wow, you actually look like shit for once."

"I don't appreciate that," Mistoffelees muttered, letting his forehead rest against the table. "I really don't."

"So is this from the drugs or did you do something else to yourself last night too?"

"Leave him alone, Mac," Coricopat ordered as he entered the conference room.  "We've got enough problems without you bothering Mistoffelees."

Macavity's brows shot up and Mistoffelees slowly raised his head to blink at him. "But I like Mistoffelees baiting," Macavity said. "And sometimes he even deserves it."

Entering the room, Bombalurina looked between the men and decided she didn't want to deal with whatever was going on. "I checked your last name," she said, handing a file to Coricopat. "Went through Powell's clinic too."

Coricopat looked it over, "It looks like none of them are Powell's donor match.  And the ones we've contacted won't testify regarding the parts of the scam they know about.  Which means we have no way to prove this.  He's looking all over the world for a kidney, and he's using the 'charity' to provide his funds.  Now, our problem is how to trap him in that?"

"He's also taking the donors and matching them up with wealthy people willing to pay," Mistoffelees said. "Which is the main scam, because you're not supposed to have to pay that much money for your life."

Macavity scowled. "Lovely person. You said he needs a match?"

"He needs a perfect match," Coricopat supplied.  "Hence his association with doctors from DGI who might find that zero mismatch for him.  He's using the money from the main scam to fund that search, and probably in the hope of purchasing a replacement kidney."

Bomba tapped her pen against the table edge. "So he's using that illegal money in his search? We can catch him if we catch the money right?"

"Which means making him spend it," Mistoffelees said, rubbing his forehead.

"So here's where we need to start figuring out how," Coricopat leaned on the table.

"Give him what he wants most," Mistoffelees said and Bombalurina looked over. "He thinks the doctor I'm posing as is going to India. We could make him think his kidney is failing and then I can swoop in and say I found that sum zero match in the area he directed me too."

Coricopat nodded once at that, his tone dropping to a neutral again as he spoke, "Major symptoms of kidney failure include headaches, weight loss, skin irritation, chills, fatigue, and blood in the urine."

Bombalurina and Mistoffelees both paused a beat at that before glancing at each other if they could figure out what that meant. "So we're going to make him think he's dealing with that right?"

"We are," the lead agent replied.  "Three symptoms in a week ought to do it."

Working his jaw a moment, Macavity looked around. "How're we going to do that?"

"He just dropped of a suit to have it dry cleaned for an event on Tuesday.  The day before he's to get the suit we'll pick it up and swap it for a larger size," Coricopat said.  "It'll look like he's lost a few pounds. And we'll be able to give him his second problem: skin irritation."

"I've been waiting for a reason to break out the itching powder," Macavity agreed.

"That though terrifies me, I hope you know," Mistoffelees murmured.

"We just need to sort out the third symptom," Coricopat replied, glancing at Mistoffelees, but otherwise not acknowledging his comment about Macavity.

"We could make him think there's blood in his urine," Mistoffelees said and Macavity whistled. "There's a compound, that's like food coloring for the body. We can put it in the cranberry juice he drinks obsessively."

"He gets his groceries delivered," Bombalurina said, flipping through his file. "Should be simple enough if we're already hijacking his dry cleaning."

Coricopat nodded once, closing the file in front of him, "Good.  So we'll set that in motion so that these things all kick in on Tuesday and Wednesday and you, Dr. Parker, can expect a call from him in short order, I think."

Mistoffelees smiled thinly. "I'll look forward to it. I'd really like to take this man down."

"You and me both.  Okay, people, we have a plan of action and a deadline to meet, let's get going," Coricopat straightened.  "I'll go see about clearing this with Vlask."

"Good luck," Macavity said, shuffling his files together as Mistoffelees watched Coricopat.

Coricopat drew a deep breath and slipped out of the conference room to go knock on Sonya's office door. Sonya was pacing his office, cup of coffee already in hand and he looked over at Coricopat over it. "Yes?"

"We have a possible way to get Powell.  But I'd prefer to have your go ahead, sir."

Sonya sighed. "This is not a good sign for what you're going to do."

Coricopat stepped fully into the office, closing the door, "We're hoping to convince him he's suffering from kidney failure.  It will involve exchanging his clothes, and we'll need authorization for the use of the itching powder, and non-damaging tampering with his delivered groceries."

Sonya blinked. "Alright. And what will this achieve?"

"He's under the impression that Mistoffelees is a doctor who is currently travelling to India--in the location that Powell expects to find a zero mismatch for his transplant.  We're hoping that we can convince him that the match was found and get him to spend the money he's been gaining through extorting people who have been removed from the donor's list."

Sonya rubbed his hand over his face and drank more coffee before nodding. "Alright, you know what you need to do to get this done and closed. How are you handling the case?"

Coricopat crossed his arms and rocked back slightly at that, "Just fine, sir.  Why do you ask?"

Sonya shrugged, affecting calmness. "It's a rather personal sort of case is all."

"I'm fine, sir," he reiterated.  "I just want to nail this bastard."

"Then nail him," Sonya said.

Coricopat nodded once, "Thank you, sir."  He paused, but turned and opened the door to leave again.

"I trust you'll be entirely careful, which I'm sure I don't even need to ask," Sonya huffed and shook his head slightly.

"I always do my best to be careful, sir," Coricopat offered with a faint smile as he exited the office.

o-o-o

Holding the phone, Mistoffelees paused. Their plan should be far enough advanced that Powell would jump on the phone call but he hoped he was timing it right as he punched in the number, listening to the line ring. Powell answered on the third ring, his voice shaky after his trip to his physician earlier that day, "Who is it?"

"Dr. Parker," Mistoffelees said, adding a note of concern into his voice. "Remember? I'm with D. G. I? You don't sound so good."

"I don't?  Dr. Parker?  Oh, right I remember."

"No, you really don't sound good," Mistoffelees said. "But hey, I have good news. I'm in India right now, and remember that area you told me I might want to check up on?"

"Are," he paused, "Are you saying you've got something there for me?"

"You might want to buy a plane ticket. Today, probably," Mistoffelees said. "I think I have just what you want."

"I'll be on the first plane I can get," Powell agreed, hanging up and going to book a flight.

Mistoffelees let out a long breath as he hung up. "Alright, well, he certainly took the bait. You know, I'd almost feel bad he's not getting the kidney he wants, except for how many people he's bribed and put in danger himself."

Coricopat nodded slightly, his face impassive, "And you say he takes a sleeping pill before he gets to the airport?"

"Yeah, he likes to be knocked out," Mistoffelees said, not trusting anyone enough to even consider such an action. "We can steal his ride and make him think he's woken up in India."

"Good.  Let's get our 'clinic' set up and I'll send Mac for him."

"Does this mean I get to dress up like a doctor?" Mistoffelees grinned.

Coricopat couldn't help the slight smile that tugged at the corners of his lips, "Yes, this means you get to dress up like a doctor."

"Cool, I always wanted to pretend to be a doctor," Mistoffelees said.

"You haven't done so, yet?"  Coricopat arched an eyebrow, slightly surprised by that.

"Well, I mean, I sorta did to sneak me and Jerrie in there but that didn't go so well. And it's different when I'm actually conning the patient," Mistoffelees said with a shrug, considering Coricopat closely.

The agent considered that and shrugged, "A valid point.  And a government sanctioned con which allows you to do it to, what do you know?"

"I'm starting to like government sanctioned cons, though don't tell Jerrie," Mistoffelees said. "It's not... quite as thrilling but there's something that's so funny about the entire idea."

"I won't breathe a word of it," the brunet promised with a bit of a smile.

Mistoffelees paused, chewing the inside of his lip. "You think I'll be able to keep up with the government sanctioned cons?"

"I'd like you to. You're a brilliant man, Mistoffelees, and it's nice to have you on our side," Coricopat answered, watching the other.

"And is that why?" Mistoffelees asked faintly, sitting on the conference table and watching him.

The agent leaned against the table, "Is that why what?"

"I mean," he paused, letting out a breath of annoyance at how badly he'd not expressed his point. "I mean, do you want me on your side because I'm smart? Is that the only reason you want me around for?"

"It's one of the reasons, but no it's not the entire reason.  It's too simplistic an explanation, honestly," Coricopat replied, worrying his lower lip as he tried to figure out how to explain what he was thinking. "Your intelligence is an asset, certainly.  But, in this capacity, there's something about you that just _works_ with me, with us, with the team."

Deciding he shouldn't be allowed to speak, Mistoffelees pushed himself off the table and headed for the door but paused. "You know, it's different to be possessive of someone and to actually posses them. I know I said that objects and people are different to possess but I wasn't quite up to subtlety at that point."

Coricopat hesitated at that, his gaze focused just to Mistoffelees' left.  He wet his lips and nodded very slightly, "Possessive is a better term for what we talked about.  I..."  He stopped and shook his head, "Perhaps the fact that you weren't up to subtlety at that point wasn't a bad thing."

"Probably," Mistoffelees agreed. "I should go," he added, tone tight as he mentally kicked himself for bringing the topic back up.

"Of course," Coricopat murmured.  "Best we get this all ready--we have a con to run."

“Always," Mistoffelees said, voice pitched sing song as he strolled out.

o-o-o

Powell woke up slowly in a rickety cot hooked to a machine which an Indian nurse was examining.  He looked around weakly, "Where am I?  What's happening?"

A nurse chattered at him in Indian, making angry gestures at him to not touch the machines before leaving. He carefully levered himself up in the bed, leaning over the side of his bed to try and get a better look at the machines.

"Hey," Mistoffelees said, stepping in and shaking his head. "You should know better than that. The equipment here is pretty temperamental."

"Dr. Parker?  What happened?"  Powell shifted his attention to Mistoffelees.

"You're in India," Mistoffelees said, crossing his arms over his chest, wearing a pair of scrubs. "Your kidney failed enroute and we had to remove your kidney and put you on dialysis. But it's not taking to it well and your blood pressure is going down."

Powell looked panicked, "Is the donor here?"

"Yeah," Mistoffelees shrugged. "But he'd curious what sort of contribution you can make here."

"Contri--that won't be a problem.  I can have a hundred thousand to you by tomorrow."

"A hundred thousand," Mistoffelees scoffed. "I don't know, how much of your life worth to you? I was thinking much closer to thirty million."

"Thirty--are you insane?!  You're shaking me down?"

Mistoffelees slowly arched one brow. "I'm going to ask again how much your life is worth to you?" His smile was freezing.

Powell paled at that, "I-I have an account.  There's not thirty million there, but it's a close thing.  I can, I can have that transferred anywhere you want."

"Anywhere?" he asked and sighed. "I suppose that will have to do. But the account will raise flags won't it?"

"No, it's completely secure.  It, alright it was set up to siphon money from my charity.  It's untraceable.  It's at the New Reserve, 774196B.  Password is Cranberry."

Mistoffelees blinked once and then laughed. "Of course it would be. Alright, then I guess I have what I need here," he said and turned to push the curtain aside and step out.

Moments after Mistoffelees left the machine shut off, Powell went into a panic until he realized that he wasn't having further adverse effect.  He reached to the tubes in his arm and pulled the tape away to reveal that they were taped but not inserted.  He swore and threw himself out of bed, exiting the "clinic" into the bright New York sunshine to find a smiling Coricopat Zimmerman standing there, badge shown, "Welcome back, Dr. Powell."

Grinning, Mistoffelees held up the plastic sheriff badge he'd taken from Coricopat's cereal. "I'm sure you'll be healthy again in no time."

Powell considered attempting to run, but knew he'd get about three steps and simply raised his hands and allowed himself to be cuffed and led away.

"Should we stop by the clinic?" Mistoffelees asked, looking over. "See if there's any more evidence?"

Coricopat nodded after a moment, "I think that's a good idea, yes. My car's just around the corner, after all."

"After you," Mistoffelees said, waving a hand. Arriving at the clinic, Mistoffelees looked around as agents were already poking around. Melissia strode out. "What the hell is going on here?"

Coricopat crossed to her, looking toward some of his agents, "Dr. Powell's been using his charity as a front for funneling money, and I’m hoping that I don't find that the clinic was knowledgeable about this."

"What?" She frowned. "Dr... who are you?"

He drew a deep breath and pulled out his badge, opening it, "Agent Coricopat Zimmerman, FBI."

He barely finished speaking before she slapped him. "How dare you?" she snarled. "You used me? So what, you told me all those things so that you could get inside?"

He grimaced, rubbing his cheek, "Not entirely. You are a beautiful young woman.  That was honest.  I did need to get inside, and I'm sorry I had to use you to do it.  I hope you find someone who can actually value you the way you deserve."

"You hope," she said and shook her head. "Damn you to _hell_. If you'll excuse me, I have to go see if I can save a clinic and my own job now." She started to walk away and turned around. "But seriously, burn in hell."

Coricopat sighed, watching her go, "Fantastic."

"You flirted with her?" Mistoffelees asked, looking at him sideways. "I mean, that's a stronger reaction than a massage at a party."

"I had to get into the clinic to get you out," the agent replied, not looking at him.

"Huh," Mistoffelees said, face blank. "I guess I hadn't imagined you flirting to do it. We should... we should go. And... see stuff."

Coricopat paused, but nodded, "We'll start in Powell's office and work out from there."

"Good," Mistoffelees said, ducking his chin down again.

"Something on your mind?"

"Last time I was in that office I got drugged?" Mistoffelees offered. "Not happy memories. I mean, your daring rescue was nice but hey."

"I promise I won't let that happen again," the agent offered, glancing at him from the corner of his eye.

"Good, I'd hate for you to be the one to drug me," Mistoffelees said, tone getting lighter.

"Wouldn't dream of it," he replied easily.

o-o-o

Pushing the door open with her shoulder, Bombalurina glanced around the apartment. "Honey?" she called, dropping her briefcase by the door and bending down to tug her shoes off.

Tantomile came out of their bedroom, combing her fingers through her brown hair.  She'd shed her jacket, heels and nylons leaving her in her blouse and the skirt part of her outfit for the day.  She leaned over to give Bombalurina a kiss on the cheek, "Evening, love.  How was work?"

"We caught bad guys," Bomba said, stepping forward to wrap an arm around Tantomile's waist and leaning in to press a kiss. "So I call that a win. What about you?"

Twining her arms around Bombaluina's neck, Tantomile smiled, "It went well.  No school tours today at the gallery which is always contributes to a wonderful day."

Bomba laughed. "It's always those school groups isn't it?" She leaned down to nuzzle against Tantomile's temple.

"Always," she murmured against Bomba's ear.  "So, what sort of bad guy did you catch today?"

"Some guy running a scam on organ donors," she said and sighed. "He was looking for a kidney for himself so he scammed donors into agreeing to donate to those willing to pay excessively for it."

Tantomile stiffened at that and pulled back to look Bomba over, "Coricopat wasn't too hard on you for this one, was he?"

"He was so tense I thought he was going to explode," Bomba sighed.

"I would imagine he went to that state of no emotion which means he's going to snarl at the next foot out of line?"

"Which is always Mistoffelees'," Bombalurina laughed. "Which I'm not going to touch with a ten foot pole. Or ever. But yes, the shutdown of emotion was obvious."

Tantomile sighed, "And he's not going to take any personal time, is he?"

"Why would he take personal time?" Bombalurina asked.

"You said it was a scam on organ donors?"  the other woman confirmed.

"Yeah," Bomba reached up a hand to pull out the ties in her hair.

"We had a friend, Julienne, when we were growing up.  She and Cori were closer than she and I were.  She had kidney problems, but her parents couldn't afford the surgery especially after she ended up off the donor list.  Her kidney failed when we were fourteen. I should call him tomorrow, see how he's doing without, well without asking," Tantomile replied, shaking her head very slightly.

"Asking is bad," Bombalurina agreed. "He doesn't do well with direct questions." Her arm reached out to pull the other woman closer to her.

"Never has.  So, what do you say to making dinner and curling up with a movie and some wine?"

"Oh god yes," Bomba laughed. "Food and wine sounds more heavenly than I currently can express."

"Then come on, love," she smiled, stepping away from Bombalurina and swaying her hips slightly as she headed for the kitchen.

Bomba grinned after her. "That's not fair."

"Was I supposed to be?"  Tantomile tossed over her shoulder with a smirk.

"It would have been unusual," Bombalurina agreed, following on her heels.

"So what do we want for dinner, then, dear?"

"Anything that doesn't take too long," Bomba said, opening the cupboards and considering everything on the shelves.

"Start chopping up some lettuce, we'll have Caesar salad and pasta with alfredo," Tantomile decided, pulling out what she would need for her alfredo sauce and fining a pot for the pasta.

"And this is why I love you so much," Bombalurina said, pulling down a bowl and setting it to one side before going for the lettuce. “I never have to make decisions about food.”

"So, I was thinking, we should take time off and go somewhere for a few days.  Just us--no phonecalls from work or family--and enjoy ourselves.  What do you say?"

"If I get time off from work," Bombalurina mused. "Which considering your brother's mental state might be actually entirely possible." Leaving off cutting the lettuce she moved to wrap a hand around Tantomile's waist, resting her chin on her shoulder. "Where'd you like to go?"

"Well, I've always wanted to go up to Niagara Falls, if we're interested in something clichéd," Tant replied, leaning back against her lover.

"I could go with cliché," Bombalurina said. "Though perhaps next time we could do something more dramatic."

"So cliché this time and dramatic on our next vacation?"

"Not to say that the falls aren't dramatic," Bombalurina said, touching her mouth to Tantomile's shoulder. "But yes, something a bit more... romantically stunning without all the tourists."

"We could see about a room overlooking the falls," Tant replied, leaning her head back as she stirred the sauce.  "Best of both worlds?  Unless you have another location in mind."

"No, that sounds wonderful, next time though? We should actually take time off and explore somewhere."

"Sounds good."  She pulled the sauce off the heat and kissed Bomba's cheek, "You need to let go so I can drain the pasta."

"Right," Bomba said and didn't move for another moment before finally stepping back and gathering together the salad to toss it into the bowl.

Tantomile drained the pasta and mixed it with the sauce before dishing it up onto two plates and kissing the other woman lightly.

"What would I do on nights like this without you?" Bombalurina asked.

"Starve," Tantomile replied simply as she swept out of the kitchen.

"Yeah that's sadly accurate," Bombalurina agreed with a sigh.

"So it's a good thing I'm here, because you starving would be a tragedy."

"Just think of everything you'd be missing out on," Bomba agreed, organizing the table settings before sitting down.

"Well if I wasn't here I wouldn't know, and that in and of itself is tragic," Tantomile remarked, taking her seat and turning part of her attention to dinner.

"So I think we've decided on all around tragedy as that theme," Bomba grinned.

Tantomile murmured her agreement, offering her lover another smile as she turned back to her own plate.

o-o-o

Jerrie was stretched out on Mistoffelees' couch, watching the younger man as he went through his mail and quoting at him, "Realists don't fear the results of their study."

"Oh for the love of," Mistoffelees muttered. "This isn't a study, this is me needing to know where the blasted music box is. It's an entirely different thing."

"Yeah, you tell me how to get you more favorable results and I will," Jerrie shot back.  "I have talked to everyone who could possibly know about your damn music box and there is _nothing_."

"It's not _my_ damned music box," Mistoffelees said, pacing the apartment. "That's sorta the point. There's gotta be something, somewhere about it."

"You point me in the right direction and I'll see what I can find, but there is no one that I have as a contact who can tell me."  He pushed Mistoffelees' mail around, frowning at a postcard, "Smith's back again."

Stopping in his pacing, Mistoffelees let out a long low breath before moving over and picking up the postcard. He paused a long moment. "There's no postmark on here."

Jerrie tensed at that, "Which means he hand delivered it here?  Which means he could have been within feet of Jenny?"

Swearing, Mistoffelees turned the post card over and frowned. "The others were blank too. This has the Museum of Natural History? Smith doesn't care about natural history or anything he can't make money off or guns."

"Have I mentioned recently how much I hate this guy?  What would he find at the museum that might make him money?"  Jerrie muttered, glowering at the card in Mistoffelees' hand.

"That's a very good question," Mistoffelees frowned at the card. "I wonder if anything's been stolen recently."

"Well, I can ask around, or you can use the fact that your suit friends might know something and figure that out," the redhead suggested.

"Yeah, I'll go in early tomorrow," Mistoffelees said, glancing toward his wine collection. "Probably."

"He gave you a new move, too?"  Jerrie glanced toward the chess board that was still set up.

"Yeah," he said, flipping the card back over. "It's definitely the last game we played."

"Who won that one?"

"We never finished it," Mistoffelees said, moving the piece and frowning at the chessboard. "I'm sure this is deeply symbolic of something."

Jerrie snorted, "Yeah, he's screwing with your head and the victor of the game he's playing on the physical scale is the symbolic victor of your last game."

“Thank you Jerrie," Mistoffelees deadpanned.

"You're the one who decided to keep playing the game he sent you," the other muttered, pushing himself to his feet.  "I'm headed out.  Let me know if you figure out what that son of a bitch got from the Museum of Natural History."

"Of course," Mistoffelees agreed, staring at the chessboard. Jumping up on the table, Oscar mewed and ran his tail under Mistoffelees' nose, startling him finally into looking up. "Have a good night, Jerrie."

"Yeah, you too," Jerrie replied on his way out the door.

After he left, Mistoffelees looked from Oscar to the wine again. "It would be a mistake to go to work with a hangover again," he said and Oscar sat down on the table, watching him. "Not to mention that you're not supposed to drink alone. Would it be drinking alone if you're here?"

If possible, Oscar looked unimpressed with him and Mistoffelees sighed.

o-o-o

The next morning found Mistoffelees as his desk before most of the other FBI agents arrived, flipping through a file about a heist at the Natural History Museum, trying to figure out what Martin might have wanted, if anything, with the items stolen. Coricopat entered the offices, blinking at the sight of Mistoffelees and pausing at his desk on his way past, "You're in bright and early this morning."

"Early, not bright," Mistoffelees said, rubbing his temple before looking up. "You're here early yourself."

"I'm usually in early."  He looked at the file on the desk, "What are you doing?"

"Just, um, looking at something," he said, half trying to cover it and realizing that looked too obvious.

That earned an arched eyebrow as Coricopat leaned over to get a better look, "Heist of the American Museum of Natural History.  That seems a little out of our normal purview."

"Yeah, and it's probably nothing," Mistoffelees said, tilting his head back.

"Except for the items stolen," Coricopat replied, skimming over the list from where he stood, "Antique cork duck decoys, wax sealed supply list, and French soil samples that belonged to Dr. John Bartram.  Nothing of any real value on its own."

"But all extremely historical," Mistoffelees said, tapping a pen against the side of the desk before he winced and stopped.

"But why these items?  You have suspicions?"

"It's a hunch," he said and paused. "A tip, sorta. But mostly just a hunch. It's probably nothing."

"Well, we haven't got much else at the moment," Coricopat remarked.  "What do you say to running with this and seeing where it takes us?"

"Um," was all Mistoffelees managed.

Coricopat slid the file over very slightly so he could take a better look, "They have a suspect.  It's just a matter of talking to him, really."

"Well, I mean, I'm sure there's a mortgage fraud case?" Mistoffelees offered instead.

 That earned him a sharp glance, "You hate mortgage fraud cases."

“Well, I mean," Mistoffelees shrugged a little helplessly.

Coricopat crossed his arms, leaning against the desk, "What’s got you interested in this one, Mistoffelees?"

"I said it was just a hunch," he said, suddenly desperate not to get Coricopat involved if it was Martin. Or the rest of the FBI for that matter.

"Let me change the question then," the agent's grey eyes locked on Mistoffelees' face. "Why are you so adamant that we not look into it?"

Mistoffelees sighed. Next time he was going to take his own advice and not drink before getting up early. "It's a hunch I'd really rather you not get involved in. It's not pretty."

“Lay it out for me," came the response.

Mistoffelees paused. "Someone's been playing chess with me via post cards. I'm not entirely sure who it is but I have suspicions. Got a post card with this museum and it's the only theft that's occurred there. Ergo, I think it might have been a hint, or warning, or something."

Coricopat paused for a long moment as he considered that. "Is the chess player a threat?"

"Don't know yet," Mistoffelees said and for the first time that morning the lie came easily.

"So you're what, planning to run down this hunch on your own?"

 "I have lunch off," Mistoffelees said.

"If this is a threat I don't want you chasing this by yourself.  I'll be joining you," Coricopat frowned slightly at him.

"It's not that much of a threat," Mistoffelees replied easily. At least he'd dealt with Martin plenty of times before.

"You said you didn't know if it was a threat and now you're telling me it's not much of one?"

Mistoffelees blinked once and sighed. "It's the morning, I have a headache. My game is off, alright?"

"All the more reason to let me come with you when you go to run down this hunch."

Mistoffelees sighed in frustration. "They guy they suspect of stealing the stuff is out on bail today."

Coricopat nodded slightly, "You want to go talk to him during the lunch hour?"

“Unless you feel like doing it now," Mistoffelees muttered, since if Coricopat got involved it would be a case one way or another.

"Might as well go now," the agent agreed.

With another sigh, Mistoffelees fished Aspirin out of his desk before rising with his coat. Coricopat picked up the file, taking note of the suspect's address and heading for the door.

Walking down the street to Manuel Campos' house, Mistoffelees focused more on the ground in front of him than Coricopat beside him. Coricopat's gaze moved up and down the street, watching for Campos, "Who's behind this, do you think?"

"It might be someone I used to know," Mistoffelees said and before he could continue he jerked back from where he was about to cross the street, stumbling back into Coricopat as a car went zooming past.

Startling, the agent looked down the street in time to see the car hit a man crossing the street and keep going, "Damn it, that's Campos."  He shot Mistoffelees a look as he picked up his speed to get to Campos, "You're going to tell me what's going on, got it?"  He yanked out his phone, calling 911 as he reached Campos' side.

Watching him, Mistoffelees started swearing. "This definitely ratcheted up to dangerous."

The ambulance showed up in short order and Coricopat saw Campos into it before dragging Mistoffelees back to the FBI offices.  He entered his office just in time to answer his phone.  A handful of minutes later he came out of his office and motioned for Mistoffelees to join him.

"What is it?" Mistoffelees asked, approaching warily.

"Manuel Campos just died in ICU.  NYPD says that his wife's a mess and says she didn't see the driver.  They're already out of leads.  I want a name, Mistoffelees."  He crossed his arms and leaned against his desk, watching the other.

"Martin Smith," Mistoffelees said after a moment. "Interpol probably has information on him if you somehow don’t."

"Everything from arms smuggling to stolen antiquities," Coricopat agreed.  We've never been able to pin anything on him, though."

"Well he's sneaky," Mistoffelees said. "And has no lovers to use as bait."

"Who is he?  As relates to you, I mean."

Mistoffelees paused a beat too long. "Old partner. So much as he ever had partners. Didn't last very long, but we met at the Grand Casino, worked in Monaco on the world backgammon finals. He's been active since then."

"You met him playing backgammon." Coricopat shook his head, unsurprised, "Alright, so what's with the museum heist?" He assumed without asking that Mistoffelees already had a theory.

"We did a lot besides backgammon by the end," Mistoffelees said. "My hunch is that it's something to do with a bet we made way back when. It's trying to counterfeit a bottle of wine that belonged to Ben Franklin. It's supposed to be impossible to actually forge the Franklin Bottle. It a Chateau Du Mons given to him by Marie Antoinette that's never gone to auction."

"You mean to tell me that people are dying over forging a bottle of wine?" His voice went cold at that.

"Yes and no," Mistoffelees said. "It's about the challenge, about the thrill of it. Also, probably about getting to and at me. But it's mostly about the money."

"If he _is_ my killer I want him.  Time to see if there's any tlk about this Franklin bottle."

"You think there would be?" Mistoffelees asked, rocking back on his heels, not liking the amount he'd just admitted.

Coricopat ran a hand over the back of his neck as he considered, "It's worth a check."

"Alright," Mistoffelees said quietly, subdued. "Let's check then."

"Who else knows about Smith?"  Coricopat asked, considering the smaller man.

"What do you mean?" Mistoffelees frowned at him. "Knows about him how? Like that he's here or that he exists and we don't like each other?"

"Both, either, primarily knows of your connection with him."

"Jerrie," Mistoffelees said. "Jenny might have seen him but wouldn't have known who or what he is. And Pounce knew but that does anyone no good."

Coricopat paused, but finally nodded, "Alright.  Let's look into this Franklin bottle, and I want to know if he contacts you."

"Of course," Mistoffelees agreed easily.

o-o-o

Mistoffelees watched through the glass as Coricopat talked to Sir. Roland Cattigan, who was running the Weatherbys action. He couldn't decide if he was glad or miffed to be on the other side of the glass for that particular discussion.

Sir Roland left after finally giving Coricopat the name of the broker for the Franklin bottle that would be going up for auction.  Coricopat watched him go with a frown, a takeout menu that he'd used as an impromptu search warrant as a threat, clenched in his left hand.

Looking at the menu, Mistoffelees raised a brow. "You know, it was probably a good thing I wasn't in there. I don't do well with smarmy arrogance. What'd the menu do to you?"

"The menu did nothing, I don't do well with arrogance of that level, either."  He shook his head, "We've got a name, at least."

"How'd you mange that out of him?" Mistoffelees asked, leaning against the railing.

Coricopat held up the menu, "Meet my new search warrant for his auction house."

Mistoffelees blinked and then managed a faint smile. "I've been a bad influence on you."

Coricopat's lips curled upward, "Perhaps.  We got the name though, and that's what matters.  Her name's Grace Quinn and she owns a wine cellar called Bin 903."

"So I assume someone is going to go talk to her then?" Mistoffelees said. "And she's the one that's putting the bottle up for auction?"

"Someone will have to if we want to tie her to Smith," Coricopat nodded, agreeing with both questions.  "She's brokering the auction for an unknown seller."

"I can go," Mistoffelees offered. "Flashing a badge won't do anyone good there."

The agent considered that, "What's your in going to be?"

"I work for someone who wants to hide his wine collection from his ex-wife and the IRA," Mistoffelees said automatically, excuses a second nature.

"And when she wants to meet your client?"  Coricopat arched an eyebrow.

"Then, if," Mistoffelees shrugged. "I'm sure you know a good bottle of wine from a bad one."

"I do at that.  Alright, go see if you can get a meeting with her, then," the agent offered him a faint smile.

"Great," Mistoffelees said, a little stiffly before he turned and headed down the stairs.

Coricopat watched him go before retreating to his office and seeing what he could pull up on Martin Smith.  He was suspected of a wide array of crimes, but they couldn't even be sure they had a handful of his aliases, and "Smith" was almost certainly not his original name.  Every case he was suspected in seemed to either go cold or end with someone else taking the fall for the crime.  Information on the man himself was non-existent beyond physical description.

o-o-o

Arriving back from the meeting with the rather beautiful Grace Quinn, Mistoffelees was ready to collapse in bed and brood for a while. He'd gotten a tour of the facilities and their security but no knowledge of the seller of the bottle.

Stepping inside his apartment he paused when he saw mail on the table. Approaching he felt his stomach turn over when he picked up a plain postcard with a tavern name and a time.

He was going through books, finding the address for the revolutionary era tavern when his phone rang. "Hello?" he asked, jamming the cell between his ear and shoulder to keep looking through the book.

Coricopat's voice came over the line, "How did your meeting go?"

"Well enough," Mistoffelees sighed, flipping another page over and finding the tavern in question. "Got a great look at their security and collection and charmed Quinn perfectly. We're invited to a wine tasting too. But I got nothing on her seller."

"Well, I may know why he's running this scam, if it is in fact him," Coricopat replied.  "I got in contact with Interpol and supposedly Smith has a large target painted on his back at the moment for a suspected heist in Stockholm where he got away with rather a lot of Russian kugerrands.  It sounds like it was bankrolled with Russian mob money and his friends there got a little upset when he skipped Europe and forgot to get them their cut."

Mistoffelees whistled, setting the book down on the table and writing the address on the postcard underneath Smith's hand writing. "Yeah, I could both see him doing that and them being more than royally angry about it. Hey, I have some more proof it might be him. I went looking and I found some of his old handwriting. It matches the stuff on the postcards I've been getting pretty exactly."

"That's good, we can have it analyzed, if we can tie the postcards to the case we could use that," Coricopat offered.

Mistoffelees sighed, realizing that would tie his personal life deeper into the case. "I can give you the post card he sent that tipped me off to the heist. I'm not sure I can give you any of the old notes though. If we see him you'll have to get him to write something."

The agent considered that and nodded before remembering that Mistoffelees wouldn't see that, "Alright.  We'll use that as a method of last resort--I'd like to get him on something more concrete, frankly."

"Yeah, I know what you mean," Mistoffelees said.

"Well, I'm calling it a night.  I'll see you in the morning and we'll get back on this."

"Yeah, have a good night," Mistoffelees said, turning the latest postcard over in his hands and sounded distracted.

Coricopat paused for a moment before murmuring, "you too," and hanging up.

Mistoffelees sighed, dropping his phone into his pocket after putting it on vibrate and picking his coat back up. If the Russians got ahold of Martin now they were likely to kill him.

Following the directions to the old tavern he found himself at a construction site, fences with no trespassing signs up and a man crouching on the other side of a deep hole in the middle of the fence. A beam lay across it, connecting the two sides.

"I see you got my postcards," Martin remarked, rising and blowing on his hands to keep them warm as Mistoffelees entered through the fence.

"It's been a while," Mistoffelees said. "But it was nice of you to keep in touch in such a cryptic manner."

Martin laughed, a few silver streaks in his dark hair which hadn't been there the last time they met. "I'm sure you figured it out pretty fast. It's not like anyone else played games with you."

"Games?" Mistoffelees arched his brows and Martin laughed again. "Because I'm sorry to say you really don't have a monopoly on mental games with me anymore. But you're right, you're still the only one who plays chess with me."

"That just means I should step up my game," Martin drawled, blowing on his hands again before stepping up to the far side of the beam, crossing his arms over his chest and arching his brows. "Is that pest still hanging around you?"

Mistoffelees scowled, wanting to cross his arms but refusing to mirror the other's posture. "Jerrie? Yeah, he's around and would really like to get a knife into your lungs."

"Violence?" Martin laughed and Mistoffelees' shoulders tensed. "So you don't mind other people doing your dirty work but you refuse to do it yourself? How... noble you must think yourself."

"I'm not the one who ran over someone with a car," Mistoffelees snapped, the jibe hitting a nerve. "He had a wife you know."

Martin shrugged, entirely unconcerned. "See, this is why you  never get what you want, Misto. You're too scared to do what has to be needed."

"And you needed to run a man over and leave his grieving wife?" Mistoffelees asked, shoulders tensing at the derivative of his name. "Yeah, I'll pass. Your methods don't require a lot of imagination. Anyone can do them."

"Hear you lost Pounce," Martin remarked mildly and Mistoffelees tensed. "I wonder if you might have been able to keep him if you'd actually done what you needed to do. Instead you probably just let him walk away unable to run after him. And now you're working for the feds? How far the mighty have fallen." When Mistoffelees started forward in anger he froze halfway along the beam, his anklet beeping at him.

Looking down in shock his eyes snapped back up to Martin's face. "You bastard."

"Sorry, did I forget to mention we're at the end of your leash here?" Martin shook his head, grey eyes bright under the streetlights and for a second remembered why he'd once thought Martin was so beautiful. But beautiful like a cold marble statue who was warm and breathed but had no heart in his chest.

"You planned this one, didn't you?" he sighed, trying to relax and taking a step back.

"Course I did," Martin said. "Though it's nice to know I could incite you to violence if I really felt like it."

"I would have punched you, not killed you," Mistoffelees said.

"Same difference. It still lacks imagination you know," Martin said and Mistoffelees snarled at him. "But you know, before we move on from the topic, I'm still fascinated by this Pounce business. I mean, I know you chose him over me and all, but the fact you let him go too? Misto, I'm curious if you even know what you want."

"I've always known what I want," Mistoffelees replied, his hands balled into fists by his side.

Martin smiled slowly, stepping closer along the beam, Mistoffelees standing his ground and refusing to move. "Yet you are chronically incapable of keeping it. I wonder if it's something wrong with you?"

"What do you want, Martin?" Mistoffelees said, voice low and full of darkness.

"I want to play our game, to the finish," Martin said, and they could almost touch if either moved forward again. "I want to know which of us can win it."

"The chess game?" Mistoffelees asked, tone snide though his posture was still tight.

Martin laughed, shaking his head before pulling out a dark green bottle and tossing it over. "No, this one."

"You're bottle's already at auction," Mistoffelees said, turning the bottle over. "So I guess you won that one."

"Giving up?" Martin drawled and Mistoffelees' eyes snapped up, flashing. "I didn't think so. Figure something out. See if you can beat me. I want to know."

For a moment they just stared at each other, the moment stretching between them before snapping when Mistoffelees turned abruptly on the beam as if he was going to leave. "Hey, Mistoffelees," Martin called and he stopped. "I have another question."

When he didn't continue, Mistoffelees turned back around. "And what is that?"

Martin's smirk was cold and predatory. "If Pounce has left you too, how long has it been for you?"

"That's none of your business," Mistoffelees snapped but didn't move back when Martin advanced again.

"You should really fight for what you want," Martin said, leaning down and stopping before he could touch the other, Mistoffelees tilting his head back to keep a better eye on what Martin might be considering. Tilting his head and stepping forward again Martin smirked when Mistoffelees shifted backward to keep the same amount of space between them. "It's sort of pathetic how much you lose."

"I'm not losing," Mistoffelees said, the words still low.

"You've lost everything already," Martin smirked. "Why not one more game?"

"I'll see you in hell first," Mistoffelees ground out and Martin laughed. The moment between them finally broke and Martin straightened, Mistoffelees turning again.

"Then you'll have to work pretty damn hard," Martin called after him. "I look forward to seeing if you actually succeed. Because I doubt you will." Mistoffelees slammed a hand against the fence on his way out, the rattling sound of the chains almost obscuring Martin's laugh.

o-o-o

Jerrie made his way down the street, turning the dusty green bottle over in his hands, frowning at it, "You met with Smith?  Alone?  What the hell does he want?"

"What he always wants," Mistoffelees said, still surly. "To play whatever game he feels like playing. He wants me to forge the Franklin bottle too."

"What are the chances of him shooting at me again?" Jerrie asked, still considering the bottle.  "So, what, he's given you the first piece to the bottle forge?"

"Considering his already substantial lead?" Mistoffelees said. "Yeah, he gave me the bottle. The easiest piece of course. Also, the chances are high."

"Well, let's beat him at the forgery then, I'd really rather not get shot at."

"I'd like you not to get shot at too," Mistoffelees said, hands in his pockets and pausing at a street corner, rocking on his heels. "He's already killed someone."

Jerrie paused at that, _"Already_?  How long has he been here?"

"A few days," Mistoffelees said, still rocking and finally making himself still. "I really hate that man right now."

"What's this actually about?"  Jerrie asked.

"With Martin? Who knows," Mistoffelees said, expression showing the exact opposite. "We're going to need to get the wine, cork, label, and sealing wax."

"We steal those things and the suit'll know."

"We don't steal them," Mistoffelees said. "The paper for the label will be easy. I'm sure you know someone who can get you the work. What worries me is the seal."

"Where are we gonna get wax that old?" Jerrie asked, running down a list in his head of where he might be able to get the things for the bottle.

Mistoffelees paused, opening his mouth before closing his mouth. "Alright, I have an idea. I'm going to need to get the suit onboard though, so see if you can find everything else and we'll work on it."

Jerrie sighed, "You know the only reason I'm remotely okay with that is because it might beat Smith.  Or get that bastard shot at instead."

"No," Mistoffelees said, too quickly. "No violence."

"M, it's Martin and the feds.  How likely is it that there's going to be no violence?"

"No violence," Mistoffelees repeated, holding a hand out and making a slashing motion. "Violence itself will mean he won. So no. No shooting, no knives, no violence."

"He's been hitting your buttons again, hasn't he?  Make sure the suit know no guns then," Jerrie looked up, and handed Mistoffelees the bottle again.  "Speaking of, we're a little too close to suit territory for me to go further."

"Of course," Mistoffelees said, accepting the bottle back. "You say that like Martin doesn't take pleasure in finding all my buttons and pressing every single one of them. He brought up Pounce."

"Son of a bitch," Jerrie muttered.  "How the hell has he managed to survive this long?"

"I don't know," he said and shook his head. "But I'd like him to not die today, now that he's all but dared me to use violence."

"Because he knows you'll avoid it as much as you can, which means he'll try to force you into situations where it's needed."

"Exactly," Mistoffelees said. "Which means I'd rather not be forced into that situation. Anyway, enjoy your scavenger hunt, I'm off to mingle with the suits."

"Good luck with your mingling.  I'll let you know how the hunt goes," Jerrie replied, turning to disappear into the morning crowd.

"Thanks," Mistoffelees said, taking a deep breath before continuing.

Coricopat was pacing his office, going over the thin files on Smith as he had been doing for the entire night. Entering the office, Mistoffelees hesitated again before striding through the room and then stepping into Coricopat's office. "You look like you had a rough night."

"It was a long one," Coricopat answered.  He glanced toward Mistoffelees, "You don't look much better."

"You go first," Mistoffelees said. "What was up?"

"Trying to find a way to trace Smith's movements since he entered New York."

"That's not going to get you very far," Mistoffelees said. "His movements tend to be erratic. He'll stay at the fanciest hotel and then sleep in a hostel the next night. Under about six different names too. Anyway, I'd really like to catch him," Mistoffelees said, putting the bottle on Coricopat's desk.

Coricopat eyed the bottle, running a hand over it, "Where did you get this?"

"Martin Smith. He wants me to play the game."

"What game?"  Coricopat leveled him with a long look.

Mistoffelees sighed. "The one I mentioned yesterday. Which of us can forge the Franklin Bottle."

"And he gave you this bottle to get started.  Please tell me he contacted you _after_ I called last night?"

"Technically before," Mistoffelees said with a shrug. "The bottle came after."

Coricopat sighed, "Fantastic.  What do you need and why are you telling me before going out to forge the bottle?"

"Well, firstly, I'd like your permission before I do anything. Everything we need to do the bottle we can get, except the wax for the seal," Mistoffelees said. "I mean, we can get without stealing in any way shape or form but the wax is tricky."

"What are you thinking for the wax?"  Coricopat leaned against the desk.

"There's two bottles in Grace Quinn's collection," he said. "They're the same time, perfect wax. I just need a couple shavings to mix in to make the time authentic. It won't harm the bottles or their price in any way." He leaned against the desk as he spoke, hoping he didn't look as tense as he felt.

The brunet weighed that information for a long moment as he looked at Mistoffelees, "When is that wine tasting?"

"Friday," he said.

"So, can you get the wax shavings then?"

"Yeah, if I can get into the vault for a few minutes," Mistoffelees said. "They change pass codes every day and it's glass, but there's no security cameras in the vault."

"Well, that would take, what a bit of tape over the latch if someone could, oh, say get a tour to prove how secure his wine would be should he consider them for housing his most prized bottles?"  Coricopat offered.

"That would probably do it," Mistoffelees agreed. "You're awfully accommodating."

"I'm intrigued by this bottle, and I want to take this guy down one way or another."

"No violence," Mistoffelees said automatically and then winced to himself.

"No violence?"  Coricopat arched an eyebrow, "Is there a particular reason?"

"Because it's what he wants?" Mistoffelees offered, realizing his slip.

"Wouldn’t want to give him that.  Alright, we'll keep the violence to a minimum on one condition," Coricopat's grey eyes locked on Mistoffelees.

Mistoffelees took a deep breath before meeting his eyes. "And what condition is that?"

"You goddamn let me know if he contacts you and you do not meet him on your own again.  For god's sake, Mistoffelees what were you thinking last night?"

Swallowing, Mistoffelees ducked his head back down. "I should have told you. But I knew what I was doing. I've known him for eight years, longer than I've known you. I needed to know what he was thinking, what he was doing and I do now. It was safe."

"Meeting Martin Smith somehow doesn't sound like anyone's description of 'safe.'" Coricopat looked him over, "And you're more tense today than you were yesterday, even after you admitted that you thought it was probably him."

"If Martin decides to kill me, I'm going to see it coming long before then," Mistoffelees said. "It's... he likes games, he wouldn't cut one short. So yes, it was safe, for me.”

"What did he say that got you in here with the bottle to play his game?"

"Lots of things," Mistoffelees said. "He gave me the bottle."

Coricopat picked the bottle up, turning it over in his hands, "Why play his game?"

"Because right now it's our best chance at catching him," Mistoffelees said and paused. "And I really, really want to beat him."

That earned a frown, "You're refusing to answer my initial question, aren't you?"

"You've asked a lot of questions today," Mistoffelees said after a beat, hedging.

"What did he say to you that's got you so on edge and adamant that you want to take him down?"  Coricopat reworded the question, speaking calmly.

Mistoffelees' mouth twisted, looking like he wanted to swear and it took him several more moments to speak. "He said I never win because I don't know what I want and ergo I do not fight hard enough."

"Then I don't think he knows you as well as he thinks he does," Coricopat said, watching Mistoffelees carefully.

"Well," Mistoffelees paused and looked away. "It is true. Which is why it pisses me off so much."

"You don't know what you want?" the brunet arched a skeptical eyebrow at that.

"No," Mistoffelees said faintly. "I think I do and then I realize I don't."

"You put on a good mask of it, in that case," he murmured in response.

"Because that's what I am good at," Mistoffelees said, trying not to scowl at that. "So what do you think I want then?"

"To live your life a free man with your lover," Coricopat answered.  "At the most basic level, at least."

For a long moment Mistoffelees didn't move or react. "That's a pretty basic level though. There's all the other stuff between that and real life that trips me up it seems."

"But the fact remains that you know what you want, at least in the long run.  What about the short term?  Say, this situation right here with Smith?"

"Oh, him I want down," Mistoffelees said, steel snapping back into his voice. "Creatively, without violence, and to damn well prove that I'll fight him."

"There we go.  You know what you want and you'll fight to get it," Coricopat's lips curled upward slightly at that.  "Ergo, you'll beat him one way or the other.  And you'll do it without violence."

For a long moment Mistoffelees didn't move or react. "That's a lot of faith to have."

"I think you'll live up to it."

"If you think so," Mistoffelees managed. "Anyway, we should," he paused, not sure what they should be doing before the party on Friday. "Figure out something. I'll see you later."

"I'll see about contacting Sir Roland and seeing if we can get our bottle into that auction as well," Coricopat said, nodding once.

"Great," Mistoffelees said, trying to sound optimistic about the bottle.

"Take the intervening days and see about getting everything set for the bottle.  I'll set Bomba to work finding information to leverage if we need it in order to get our forgery into the auction."

"Leverage?" Mistoffelees said and paused a beat. "Actually, I don't much want to think about Bombalurina and blackmail material so I've leave that entirely up to her."

Coricopat laughed, "She's not the best person I know for it, but she's good and a close second."

"I'm not going to dare to ask who's best," Mistoffelees said, shaking his head as he turned to leave.

That earned another wry chuckle, "Probably wisest.  I'll see you later, Mistoffelees." Mistoffelees nodded, shutting the glass door behind him.


End file.
